To catch a heart
by Blond Handsome Stranger
Summary: When Spike is brought back from the dead, Buffy gets a second chance to express her feelings. She just needs to figure out how. Post Buffy tv series, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to their respective owners. I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

**Summary**: When Spike is brought back from the dead, Buffy gets a second chance to express her feelings. She just needs to figure out how. Post Buffy tv series, AU.

* * *

Buffy had just gotten back from her patrol. She was slightly sore, nothing major though. There's nothing like in-between-Apocalypses to make a girl glad. Then again, after the fall of Sunnydale and Spike's death, there wasn't much more that could cause her pure, despairingly grief.

She chastised herself for the thought: she jinxed it, now definitely something worse would come and kill all the remaining important people in her life.

A loud ringing made her jump. Oh God, maybe she really jinxed it! She went to the kitchen and answered the phone. Stupid, stupid Buffy!

"Buffy?" – Gee, why couldn't it have been a prank call? No, the harbinger of bad news himself had to be on the other side of the line.

"Hey Angel."

"Hi."

"You alright?"

"Yeah… uhn, listen…"

Buffy closed her eyes. So much for small talk, let's get right into more apocalyptic subjects… She forced herself to be pragmatic and push back the fear: it was expected of her.

"How bad? Go ahead, I can take it. What's the next Doomsday threat?"

"Actually, it's about Spike."

"Wha…" - her heart tightened – "what about Spike?"

"He's back."

_WHAT?!_ was her first thought. Gladly, her mind hadn't translated it into words. Shock and a great amount of hope she was afraid to feel kept her from saying anything.

Breathing in and out, she slowly regained her ability to speak. Tears of happiness, hope and fear started to prick her eyes. She couldn't shed them, couldn't allow herself until she was sure she heard it right. Carefully, she chose her next words.

"What do you mean 'he's back'?" she questioned him warily, dreading the answer while asking. It was just her luck that a new evil would use Spike just to toy with and torture her.

"I dropped the amulet and he resurrected."

"Oh."

She gave a low yet hysteric laugh and her tears started falling.

It was… silly, so very silly. No Big Bad? No Armageddon? Just her loved one back? She couldn't believe it.

"Yeah." Angel had expected her disbelief: it was a simplistic and stupid resurrection if he knew one.

"Where is he?"

"Staying at the Hyperion with me" he said, reluctantly. He wasn't happy about telling her, but he remembered how desolated she was when he died. She never said a word, but he knew. He pushed her away and she had finally fallen for someone else. Someone he hated.

"I'm coming."

"Buffy, there's this thing…"

_Incorporeal_. Of course he had to be _incorporeal_, she thought. But then again, she was expecting something worse. She got mad when Angel told her Spike didn't want her to know he was back. So, an incorporeal idiot…

Well, she could work with that.

A couple of minutes later, Buffy hung up the phone. She had barely managed to control the string of tears running across her face, although she believed to have succeeded in keeping her voice as unaffected as she could while talking to Angel.

When Dawn showed up, however, that was another thing entirely.

"Buffy, what's wrong?"

One look into her little sister's eyes and she started crying like a child, sobbing, unable to form a single word. Dawn hugged her.

"Shh, Buffy, calm down. What happened?"

"S-spike…"

Her voice broken, Buffy took the time to breathe. Before continuing, she noticed the sad look on Dawn's face – they both missed him so much.

"Dawn, Spike's back."

"_What?!_"

"The bleached and obnoxious vampire called Spike" she said, sniveling. "Well, he's back."

"Oh my God… Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!" Dawn's eyes gleamed with surprise as she processed the news.

"Yeah… Apparently, my boyfriends just can't stay dead. Must be one of the perks of being a slayer, you know, along with super strength and fast healing," she joked. "Too bad the dental care plan sucks" – she furrowed her brows then smiled, the tears still glistening in her face. Dawn smiled back.

"Where is he?"

"In L.A. with Angel."

"I'll pack my bags. Five minutes!"

"Dawn, listen. I think I should go alone this time."

"No way!"

"Well, you see, he's incorporeal."

"Oh," Dawn took a few seconds to process the information. "Okay, so I can't hug him. No biggie."

"And he didn't want us to know he's back."

Dawn looked hurt… and angry. "How can he do this to me?"

"To us. And good question. But I promise you this: I'm gonna find a way to get his body back, then I'll kick his ass all the way over here…"

* * *

Spike was really annoyed, his lack of body getting to him. Sure, it has its advantages: he could annoy Angel endlessly without the ponce being able to do a thing about it. But the inability to use electronics and appliances? Not so fun. Especially since he'd kill for a hot chocolate and a little entertainment.

He noticed Angel's presence before the other vampire opened the door to the room. Except for touch, all his other senses remained keen – well, he couldn't really know about taste, since it was bloody impossible to get any blood or food not to go through him. Being a ghost sucked big time.

"Well, finally!"

"Hey Spike."

"Could've at least left the tellie on! Wouldn't have threatened your post as World's Biggest Wanker to do something nice, you know? You've got plenty to compensate."

"Shut up, Spike. It's been a long day…"

"Yeah, tell _me_ about it! I'm the one who's stuck in here…" Spike's whine was cut in half by a sweet fragrance: vanilla and mint. His eyes darted to the door and he stared at it transfixed, waiting for it to open. It didn't though. Confused, he looked at his sire. Angel's nervous yet not surprised look was also fixated at the door. It dawned on him then: she's was here to see _him_.

"Oh bloody hell!" Angel's eyes met his.

"Spike, listen to me…"

"Oh, you don't get to get all cozy with the Slayer while I'm around!"

"Excuse me?" confusion hit him. Angel had expected a bad reaction from Spike, but what the hell was he saying?

"Oh, that's bloody marvelous! Leave it to Angelus to find the perfect torture to kick me when I'm down! But just you start with your longing and suffering looks over her and you'll be dust as soon as I regain my body. Do. You. Understand?"

"Spike…"

Buffy had been facing the door for a whole minute now. On her way over, she played the scene a million times in her head. She had been angry, sarcastic, funny, even caring. There was a different reaction in each scenery in her head, some seemed stupid, some awkward, many were filled with emotion. The one she didn't predict was the one where she couldn't bring herself to _open_ the door. Or knock, for that matter. Hell, even kicking it down would've been better. This scenery would probably need a category of its own: ridiculous! Too bad this was actually the _real _one.

Ok, maybe kicking it down was better. She took a deep breath and chickened out, going for opening instead – she really didn't want to become the center of attention this time. Not when she was an emotional mess.

The two vampires turned towards her and stopped arguing. Yeah, so much for a discreet entrance, she thought. She kept her eyes on Angel, not daring to look at Spike.

"Buffy."

"Hi Angel."

Spike cast a hurt look at her. He died for her, and yet she still fell all over Peaches!

As if reading his mind, she turned her head towards him, taking him in.

"Spike."

"Slayer" he said nonchalantly. His very blue eyes betrayed his tone: he was so glad to see her. He looked down, concealing his emotions.

It took all of her strength to hold back her tears. She was so very angry and so very happy that her heart seemed like it would break into several pieces. Both feelings commanded her to touch him, either violently or tenderly. Knowing it was not an option didn't prevent her from taking a step in his direction.

Her unexpected movement made Spike look up. He couldn't read her, an emotional turmoil reflecting in those strong and adorable green eyes.

"Are you staying the night, Buffy?" Angel intervened.

She blinked and broke her eye contact with Spike, realizing that her body was still moving in his direction. She stopped midway.

For that alone Spike could kill the older vampire. She was looking at _me_, you selfish egocentric bastard!

"Yeah, I am."

"Okay, I'll go make the arrangements for you."

"Thanks," her eyes had already gone back to Spike's, and Angel left the room. "So, you're really back."

"Yeah. Wait. How did you…?"

"Angel called me today."

"Oh. Guess I've annoyed the ponce too much."

"Yeah, Spike, maybe you have. What I don't understand is why you didn't talk to me."

"And say what exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know Spike. How about 'I came back, stop mourning me'?" he saw pain flash in her eyes for a millisecond, just before she turned around and left the room, two tears running down her cheeks.

He was taken aback for a moment. Was she crying? Did she really miss him?

He started to follow her down the corridor. "Buffy…"

"Leave me alone, Spike."

He wouldn't let her, of course. He would hold her tight and wipe away her tears. Until he realized that he couldn't. Feeling powerless, he stopped following her. For now.

She passed Angel on the corridor. With her head down, she took her bedroom keys and thanked him.

"You stupid childe! What did you say to her?"

"Ironically, this time it's what I didn't say." he answered, more to himself than to Angel.

* * *

**A/N**: Hello guys! This is my first Spuffy fic and I hope you all enjoy! If I made any mistakes, I'm really sorry – English is not my native language, so bear with me… Reviews are appreciated (and eagerly awaited lol), so let me know what you guys think! See you in chapter 2 ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

Buffy woke up with a tingling sensation on the back of her neck, one she never thought she'd feel again. She kept her eyes closed, reveling in the feeling and postponing the dreaded talk she was sure would follow. Spike probably knew she was already awake, but made no sound. Last night she had walked into her room and fallen onto the bed, crying. As the exhaustion of the tears wore her down and she began to drift off to sleep, she could feel the familiar presence unconsciously soothing her.

She had no idea of what to say to him. Just before he died, she had finally admitted her feelings, but he mistook the words for pity. Right then and there, she realized there was no time to convince him of her love for him and it was all her fault. He had wished to die and nothing she did would've proven that what she felt was more than friendship or pity. Her time for happiness had been up and she had no one else to blame but herself for wasting it.

When she finally opened her eyes, she saw Spike sitting on the floor in the corner of the bedroom, his back seemingly supported by the wall behind him. He kept his gaze down, staring at the carpet.

When he looked up, those intense blue eyes wreaked havoc with her heart. His face serious, his eyes held just the slightest glint of innocence. Like a boy who was lost, unable to understand how his ground kept disappearing from beneath his feet. A wave of guilt washed over her: she felt deeply hurt, but based on what exactly? Their non-existing relationship? Her unknown love for him? Truth was, she had no right to act wounded and blame him for it.

"Hey." she said, still lying down.

"'Morning."

"I'm sorry..."

Her apology took him a little by surprise as he had meant to say the same to her. Her strong reaction to his return had confused the hell out of him, but he should've predicted she would miss him as a friend. He stayed with her through all of her crying the night before, endured every tear and every sob from behind her door, as punishment for his stupidity. Only as her breathing steadied and slumber spared her tired eyes, he allowed himself to get inside. In the morning light, her face still bore the signs of her distress: she looked tired and her eyes remained a bit swollen. She still looked like an angel.

"No, Buffy, I am sorry. Had I known… had I thought for a second that you would be sad, I would've called." He said, serious. Then a smirk began to form on his face. "Or rather deliberately annoyed the hell out of someone to call you for me… I believe the Poofter told you about my 'predicament'."

She missed that smirk… She used to take it for granted and roll her eyes at him whenever his smugness or infuriating amusement reflected on his face.

She still rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, walking through walls, huh? Pretty convenient ability for a pervert like you." she teased.

"You wound me, Slayer, I'm a perfect gentleman" he feigned a hurt expression, joining the game. "Are you naked under there?" the easiness between them led him to add, in a husky and seductive voice that wasn't meant to be so.

A flick of heat darkened his eyes before his words and tone fully registered in his mind. Before he could regret it, Buffy challenged him. "If I am, what are you gonna do about it?"

She hadn't meant for their conversation to go to such a dangerous place. But his question reminded her of one of the many opportunities she missed before and she just couldn't resist replying this time.

Spike could've sworn he'd seen desire reflected in her green eyes as she teased him defiantly. Then again, when it came to her he had a way to fool himself into believing what his heart wanted to believe.

There was, however, something different about her. Certain boldness, a little bit of a devil-may-care attitude that balanced her more gentle, fragile side. It made him wonder what else she had lost while he wasn't around. Before getting too engrossed in such grim thoughts, he decided to lighten things up. "Kicking me in the gut ain't fair, pet. I'm only a ghost, you know?"

She bit her lip in frustration. She shouldn't have dared him… It only made her want him, his touch, even more. Besides, she had to find a way to prove him that she _loved_ him, not that she was _horny_. "My bad, I forgot… So, you're going through people and furniture?"

"Yeah, gotta be damn glad that the floor holds me."

"So, your whole back-against-the-wall posture is just a fake?"

"Well, yeah. Couldn't have you freaking out when half of my body disappeared into the other room, now, could I?"

So he had been in that uncomfortable position for how long now? An hour, two?

She suddenly sat down on the bed and pulled her covering sheet from beneath the comforter. She wasn't naked, of course, having cried herself to sleep still fully dressed, except for her boots. She got off the bed, taking the sheet along with her and moving in his direction. He lifted a questioning brow while watching her sit just a few inches across from him, pull the sheet over her exposed shoulder and lie down on her side, her head resting against her arm.

She motioned, waiting for him to do the same. When he didn't, she spoke. "Come on, Spike, lie down."

He finally complied, his body positioned just a few inches apart from hers. They both stared intently into each other's eyes as if nothing else in the world mattered, or existed even. The indirect light that penetrated from the window made his blue eyes so very bright that she felt she could stay like that forever, losing herself in him. All the hurt and the anger she felt the day before seemed to fade. A single tear escaped her eyes – one that tried to express all the feelings inside. "I've missed you."

"Shh, don't cry, luv. I've missed you too." he wanted to run a hand through her hair, tuck the strand that rested against her cheek behind her ear and bring her head over his chest. "Rest a little, pet, I'll stay here with you."

* * *

**A/N: **Hey guys, here's another chapter for you! Thank you all for reading it and I hope you enjoy :)  
This week will be a little tough since I have to study until my brain fries, but I'll write and update as soon as I can.  
Let me know what you think and I'll see you in chapter 3!


	3. Chapter 3

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

**A/N**: Hello Spuffy fans! Sorry it took me so long to publish, but I have some good news: ladies and gentlemen, it's with honor that I introduce you to Rachel (nowimlivingcolor – from Elysian Fields), my beta! She did an amazing job helping me out with this chapter and she's so sweet I hope I can keep her forever!

Also, I'd like to give special thanks to Valerie (valerie21601 – from FFnet and Elysian Fields) for helping me navigate this universe and keeping me motivated! :)

A big thank you for all of you that are following this story!

See you in chapter 4,

BHS

* * *

This time around, Buffy's body complained at her choice of bed. The hard floor, covered by a not so soft carpet and an uncomfortable pillow – her arm, now numb from sustaining the weight of her head. Her soul, on the other hand, felt less shattered, less immersed in the constant state of loss and suffering that described her life as a slayer.

She almost smiled to herself: Spike was watching her sleep. She knew it even before opening her eyes; she could feel his sweet and penetrating gaze through her closed eyelids. But the forewarning didn't prevent the cold, contracting feeling in her stomach or the conflicting hotness of her skin when she opened her eyes and caught him admiring her. She felt like a teenager - how could he not notice?

"Hey, luv."

"Hi."

"So, you came to L.A."

"Yes, I did."

An uncomfortable silence followed, as Spike was afraid to ask her why she had come, and Buffy was anxious about letting him in on her reasons. But the question filled the air nonetheless, making them both tense. Feeling the need to do something, she sat up, resting her back on the bed and avoiding his stare. Spike stretched out next to her, propping himself up on one elbow to face her.

The door suddenly opened, and they didn't know if they were glad or annoyed at the interruption. That is, until they saw Harmony standing there.

Yep, they were definitely annoyed.

"Blondie bear, Angel sent me here to…and the Slayer is here! Wow, now I get why Angel is sulking more than usual."

They stood up and turned to face her. "Harm."

"You know, I think I can tell his brooding face from his sulking face now, oh, and from his annoyed face, too."

Spiked sighed, impatiently. "No, you can't. They're all the same. Now, why did he send you here?"

"He wanted me to check on you. I didn't understand why you would be here and not in his room, where you were staying before, but since you don't have a body you could be pretty much anywhere, so I thought, "Maybe he's just passing the time and haunting a guest or something." But now that _she _is here, it kinda makes sense…." and she kept on going… On and on and on...

Buffy blinked several times, having forgotten the verbal diarrhea that was Harmony. Spike spared a glance at Buffy and snorted: her face was changing from shock to disbelief, bordering on insanity as the blonde vampire didn't stop for a breath – she didn't _need_ air.

"Want to see a nifty little trick, luv?" Spike whispered to Buffy, not really waiting for an answer. In a louder voice, he added. "Well, seems like you birds have a lot to catch up on and some good old stories to remember – you know, slaying, abducting little sisters, that kind of stuff. I'll just go for a walk and leave you to it."

Spike went through the wall into the next room and it took Harmony a whole minute for his words to sink in. She, kidnapping Dawn, the Slayer's _sister_. When they did, her face froze in panic. "Blondie bear, don't leave me alone with the Slayer, she has _stakes_! Wait for me!"

As soon as she fled, Buffy smiled and closed the door. Only a few seconds later Spike came back through the wall, smirking.

"I gotta hand it to you, pretty nifty. How long do you think she'll be looking for you?"

"Well, it is Harmony, so I'm thinking an hour or so."

They smiled at each other – they excelled at the witty, non-consequential talk. The serious, life-changing and deeply emotional stuff? Yeah, not so much.

"I think I'll go take a shower now."

"Mind if I wait around?"

"No, but I'll probably need something to eat later." She fiddled with her hands, hesitating over her next words, not really wanting nor knowing how to say them. "Then I guess I should go talk to Angel."

The change in his expression and voice was instantaneous. "I guess you should."

"You could go with me." she suggested, wanting to erase his sullen look.

His only answer was a brief insincere smile that never reached his eyes. "Go take your shower, pet. I promise I won't peek."

When she left the bathroom, he was no longer there.

* * *

Spike felt like kicking or breaking something. What had he been thinking? That they would live in that bloody bubble of a room and be happy ever after?

Sooner or later, Buffy and Nancy-Boy would go back to pining for each other and he didn't want to be there to witness it this time. Not unless he could hit the ponce. Hard.

Since he couldn't, he would just take a nice long walk along deserted hotel corridors. That was a good idea, wasn't it? He stopped. "Oh, bugger…Who am I trying to fool?", he said to himself, exasperated, before turning towards Angel's room.

* * *

"Hey, Angel."

"Buffy, come on in." Angel motioned for her to take a seat on his bedroom couch. "I was expecting to see you earlier."

"I know. Sorry, I just… got held up."

"By _Spike._" he hissed.

She chose to ignore his tone. "I really appreciate you calling me. I really do."

"Yeah, I'm over the moon with joy."

"Angel." she said, in a warning tone. She wasn't about to just sit and take crap from him, no matter how grateful she was.

"Seriously, Buffy. _Him_?"

"I seem to recall a very similar conversation not very long ago. I believe my words were 'is that your business?' I think the point still stands."

"Yeah, but…you and _Spike_?"

"Me and Buffy what?"

Spike had entered the room, catching them both by surprise. Buffy stood up, startled.

"Spike! I thought you weren't coming." She looked between the two vampires. Casting a meaningful glance at Angel, she continued. "We were just… discussing a way to get your body back!"

Angel looked back at her, incredulity stamped all over his face. So, Spike had no idea.

"Yeah?" _Liar_. He could smell trouble in paradise from a mile away. Whatever Angel had said to her this time had gotten her really angry. But if she didn't want him to know what it was, so be it. "Any luck?"

"None yet. But we'll think of something."

As Angel recovered from the surprise, a petty and childish feeling took over him. He knew he shouldn't, but simply couldn't stop himself. "So, Spikey, you're just clueless?"

Buffy's eyes grew wider. Oh no, he wasn't doing what she thought he was doing.

"What do you mean?"

"No idea whatsoever? Huh," he gloated.

Buffy had to stop him. _Now_.

Before she could, Spike's ghost disappeared.

"Angel, what did you do to him?" she asked, infuriated.

"Nothing!"

"I'll only ask this once…"

"Buffy, I really don't know what happened to him." His expression was just as shocked as hers.

"Oh, God."


	4. Chapter 4

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

"Come on, please…pick up the phone…." Buffy and Angel had rushed back to her room in the hope of finding Spike there, but no such luck – his ghost was nowhere to be seen. Angel stared at her empty room as if Spike would appear any second now. Buffy knew better; this wasn't one of Spike's ghost tricks. She hurried to the phone and dialed as fast as she could. As she painfully waited, she unconsciously started to twist the old phone's cable in an attempt to maintain her composure. The frenetic yet pointless movement only managed to knot the old cable, much like her dread was doing to her stomach. "Come on…Willow! It's Buffy, I need your help."

"Buffy, hi, what's wrong?" The redhead's voice sounded vaguely sleepy, but the years of near-death and end-of-the-world situations had robbed the shock out of late night calls.

"I need you to do a spell."

All traces of sleepiness vanished from Willow's voice. "Oh my God, is everything okay? Did someone get hurt?"

"No." It was an answer to both questions, just not a very true one. The uncertainty of 'I don't know' would only make them waste time. Right now, every second counted. "I need to find Spike."

"Spike? But isn't he, you know, dead?"

"No, sorry, I didn't get a chance to tell you. Short version is: Spike is back…or was back. His ghost! His ghost was back and then it wasn't. I need you to find him, Will."

"Buffy, let's just slow down for a second… How did he come back? Like a revenging poltergeist? Or…or more like 'I'm a soul with unfinished business' sort of ghost?"

"Neither one. I'd say something along the lines of 'Hey, I got resurrected and nobody saved me a body'. Can you help now?"

"Oh, okay. I suppose I can try the demonic locator spell, do you have something that belonged to him? That will make it easier to tell him apart from all the horned, green-ish demons."

"Um…I have a t-shirt, a black one, it's in my bedroom. Can you get it?" she wasn't looking at Angel, but she could feel his glare burning the back of her neck at that last part. To hell with his vampire hearing. She so didn't have time for his jealousy right now.

"I'll get it. I'll call you as soon as I'm done."

"Okay, thanks Will."

She hung up the phone, ignoring the tangled cable, before turning to face Angel. She was looking for a fight – any word that could be used as an excuse to punch his face would do. But he denied her even this small satisfaction. He just stood there, staring at her as if she looked like a lost puppy.

Perhaps she did, but kicking his ass would make her feel more like herself. The adrenaline would take away the pain and the action would distract her terrified mind. By depriving her of that release, Angel was letting her drown in the hopelessness of Spike's loss all over again. She had come to terms with his death before; he had died saving the world. And she had cried every night since then, wishing she'd been more selfish and pulled him out of the Hellmouth. There would be no excuse this time. Her first priority should've been getting his body back; if anything happened to him, it would be her fault. If he dies permanently this time, she won't be able to live with herself.

When it became clear that Angel wouldn't say a word, she abandoned her aggressive stance and curled up by the phone. She braced herself for Willow's call. She needed her best friend to give her a mission – kill a demon, beat a warlock - hell, defeat an evil god again. But the darkest scenarios kept worming their way into her head. What if he didn't come back? What if she never saw him again? What if his resurrection had been a fluke, a temporary thing?

When the phone rang, she jumped at it, almost knocking the handle from the base. "Will? Did you find him?"

"Buffy, it's bad. It's really bad." The details never came. A deafening scream filled their ears only seconds before a disfigured body materialized before Buffy's eyes.

It took her longer to get out of shock than it took her mind to attach a name to the body. _Spike_. The abused creature covered in burns was _Spike_. The more she looked at him, the more gruesome the details became. His clothing was ragged; acrid claw marks tore his shirt, partially revealing a chest savaged by piercing wounds. But it was his eyes that revealed most of the pain he was feeling– the vivid blue bearing a raw, tortured look, standing out from the cuts and bruises marring his face.

Her hands shaking, Buffy loosened her grasp on the phone. She couldn't look away. She couldn't blink even when tears started fogging her vision. Before abandoning the phone to the ground, she managed to say with a broken voice, "Willow, I need you here."

She took a step forward and his body went stiff, his nostrils flaring like a taunted animal. His reaction made her move a little slower. She called his name in a low, soothing tone, "Spike…it's me, Buffy."

Something about her voice sparked a flash of recognition in his eyes.

He was on the ground before she could get to him. The pain was too great; the need to stand up to the torture had been the only thing keeping him standing. But now he had escaped. Buffy was there. His split lips and injured tongue didn't stop him from whispering her name like a prayer, "Buffy."

Her heart breaking at the sight of him, she knelt beside him, cursing herself mentally for not being able to touch him, to tend his wounds. "I'm here, Spike, I'm right here, you'll be okay."

Angel had remained incredibly quiet. A strange sense of empathy awakened in him. It wasn't his place to be concerned with Spike, but he felt relieved that Buffy was there for him. He knew those injuries, having experienced them himself. Only Hell could do that to your soul. When the trace of a different scent filled the air, he used it as an excuse to leave. "Willow's here. I'll go find her."

Buffy was only then reminded of Angel's presence in the room, but his strange words barely registered. It felt like it had been hours since she talked to her friend. Spike nestled on the floor between the bed and the wall. Fatigue took its toll and he slumbered, his wounds slowly beginning to heal.

"Thank God." she whispered, watching his injured face. She stole a pillow from the bed and carefully lay down by his side. Buffy watched as the nasty cut on his cheek started to close, but the exhaustion caught up with her and she fell asleep before it healed completely.

Only a couple of hours had passed when Buffy woke. She was still tired, but last night's events had disrupted her dreams and made it impossible for her to go back to sleep.

Spike was still resting. All the injuries from his body had closed. The lack of evidence, much like his now peaceful face, meant nothing. After watching Spike sleep for a few minutes, Buffy got up and went to the bathroom. A cold splash of water on her face would help her fully function. For some reason, the icy feeling of the cold water brought back Angel's words to her memory. Willow was there, and she had to talk to her about Spike.

Not wanting to leave Spike alone, Buffy retrieved the phone from the ground and dialed Angel's number. Turned out she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

* * *

Willow knocked lightly on the door and Buffy quickly let her in. Their faces mirrored each other. Swollen, tired eyes, puffy faces and messy hair, complete with synchronized yawning.

"Hey, Will."

"Hi, Buffy."

They felt like hugging each other, but that would only lead to an uncontrollable stream of tears and sobs and more hugging. That wasn't a door they were willing to open just yet. They shared an understanding look and a half-smile instead.

"Sorry it took so long for me to see you." Buffy furrowed her brows. "How did you get here so fast?"

"Well, you see…I…I did a teleportation spell."

"Willow!" Buffy's eyes widened in surprise. That wasn't your everyday sort of spell. It was dangerous and daring - two words that didn't really describe Willow.

"I know it was risky, but look - I'm still in one piece!" Her voice softened, careful not to wake Spike. "And you'd do the same for me, if you were a witch, of course, instead of a slayer. You would go take a bunch of candles and say, 'My best friend needs me, so I'm teleporting myself, flatulence be damned!'" Her belly chose that moment to grumble loudly. "Actually, I think I need to use the bathroom again."

"It's right this way."

Willow hesitated. "Uh, Angel got me a room; I think it's best if I go there. But I'll come back soon."

"Okay." Buffy walked with her to the door. "And, Will…thank you."

Willow just smiled before sprinting cutely down the corridor.

After closing the door, Buffy walked carefully by Spike's side, reaching for her bag. It was taking her a while to find her hairbrush, a search she completely abandoned when Spike let out a sore moan. "Did you by any chance pack a pair of red knickers, luv? You look really hot in them."

"You're such a pig. Okay, I guess that rules out brain damage." She turned to face him; he was stretched out in a pretty inviting position. Not allowing herself to get distracted, she added, "How are you feeling?"

"Still a little charred, but I guess that's what happens when Hell tries to bloody barbecue you." He chose to downplay his pain and she decided not to push him.

"So you were really in Hell?"

"I'm afraid so, pet. The whole fire and torment atmosphere tends to give it away. Was Red here? I can smell her on you."

"That's gross…and yes, I asked her to come. We're gonna find a way to get your body back."

"I sense a Scooby research meeting coming up." His glum tone ruined his every attempt to make light of the situation. He kept on trying though. "Thanks, luv. This whole ghost thing is getting really boring. Did I mention it's bloody painful too?"

"Don't worry; I'm sure we'll find a way."

"Mind if I take a walk around while you search? I'm still sore and it's not like I can go through books. Well, I guess I can…."

"Just not in a very helpful way, I get it. Will you be okay?"

"Don't need a bloody babysitter, Slayer. Unless you're volunteering?"

Sneaky…two could play this game. "Yeah, I was gonna say Angel."

"I'm outta here."

He had turned to leave and she was fighting herself not to tell him to stay. "Spike," He looked back at her, clearly annoyed. "Be careful."

He caught the pleading look in her eyes: _don't fade away._ It melted his annoyance instantaneously. "I'll be okay, luv."

* * *

"So, tell me again why it is that only the two of us are hitting the books? I thought Angel had a team. " Buffy looked at the two piles of books stacked in front of her. Seven books on the left, two on the right, and a freshly started one opened in front of her. It had been hours, and despite her hopeful wishes, the bigger pile wasn't the one of read books.

"Well, they sent us the books and they're running the firm while Angel's helping us. This Senior Partners thing is so creepy. I thought demons were as bad as they get, you know, but demons with _lawyers_? That's a whole other level of evil."

"Kinda makes you nostalgic about the old demonic world-domination schemes, doesn't it? I never thought I'd prefer those."

"Me either. But Wesley is doing some research as well. He has this neat library back at the office. I bet Giles would be so jealous."

"That means you're jealous, too."

"Guilty… Okay, time to get back to the books!"

Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. At that moment, Angel came into the room.

"Okay, who wants to take a break?"

Buffy looked expectantly at Willow.

"Go on, Buffy. I'll take the next one."

"You're the best, Will. I'll go take a shower, and see you in an hour or two."

* * *

Buffy had just gotten out of a very long shower. She dressed quickly in the hope of getting some sleep, but her hair was still damp. She had begun drying it out when the ringing phone interrupted her.

"Buffy?"

"Dawn, hi." Buffy had forgotten about her sister amidst the chaos. "Are you okay?"

"Me? How do you think I am? First you make me stay here, then you don't even call to let me know what's going on, and now I find out Spike's going to Hell?"

"I guess you talked to Willow. Did she tell you everything?"

"Duh, it's _Willow_. And I tried calling you this morning, but you weren't answering so I tried _again_ a while ago, and still no answer. Then I called Angel. I'm pretty sure his forehead was all broody while we had the quietest conversation of my _life_. So he passed the phone to Willow."

"Okay, I get that you're angry with me, and I'm sorry." Buffy really was sorry, but all she could think now was 'Poor Willow'. Facing a manipulative Dawn wasn't for the faint of heart. "You used your vulnerable voice on her, didn't you?"

"My vulnerable voice? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, you know; the one that goes along with your puppy-eyed face."

"Hey, it's not my fault." Dawn protested in indignation. "You slay, I guilt people into telling me things. It's a survival skill."

"Right." Buffy couldn't help but smile. "So you called just to express your feelings or…"

"I wanna know how Spike is. Do you know why this is happening to him?"

"Not yet. He's not doing so great, but he's dealing with it. In a tough guy kind of way."

"So he's adopting your style, huh?"

"Not funny."

"Not meant to be."

There was a short-lived silence before Dawn put her machinations to work. "So did you tell him yet?"

"No…but I will! Soon."

"_Buffy_."

Dawn's exasperated voice was shortly followed by a husky, completely different one on Buffy's side of the line. "Tell me what, pet?"

"Okay, that was too soon. I gotta go, bye Dawn!" She hung up the phone before Dawn could protest, then slowly turned to face Spike. "Spike! Have you've been here long?"

"Not really. Was that Niblet on the phone?"

"Yeah, she called to ask about you." Only after saying it she realized her mistake. Good, Buffy, because that doesn't sound suspicious at all! Her brain could start working with her mouth anytime now!

He lifted a brow, wary of her weird reactions. "And you hung up before she could talk to me?"

"Good point. Sorry."

"So, what is it that you have to tell me?"

"Me?" It was a stall, Buffy knew, but she needed a little more time to get her thoughts straight.

"There's nobody else here in the room, luv." He waited patiently for her reply, her attempts to change the subject and poorly devised excuses were only succeeding in making him curious.

"Oh, right." She could lie, but this time her sluggish brain wasn't coming up with any bright ideas. Besides, Spike could always tell when she was lying. Funny thing was, he wouldn't believe her when she told him the truth. Maybe that was why he could tell when she was lying, he'd always assume she was and be right half of the time. Ok, more than half, she was mostly a big fat liar. But anyway, that was an interesting thought…and completely off-topic, since he was still waiting for an answer. She could do it… three little words, no insults, no lies, no sarcasm. Ok, here we go.

"Spike, I love you."

He stared at her intently, startled and confused. Since the serious look on her face never shifted into a 'you've been punk'd!' one, he looked away, pondering over her words. She could almost see the internal struggle when his eyes returned to hers after what seemed like forever. The surprise, the confusion, the denial, the conflict; yep, they were all there. Finally, realization shone in his blue eyes.

"Oh, bollocks! I'm bleeding dying again, aren't I? Did Red say something?"

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him, dumbfounded. Seriously? She finally revealed her feelings, and that's his reaction? In what distorted dictionary was the expression 'I love you' translated as 'You're going to die a horrible death'?

Buffy clenched her hands. Her pupils contracted and she pursed her lips as perplexity wore off. She definitely wasn't stunned anymore.

"Shut up, Spike! I'm in love with you and you sure as hell won't die on me again, because I will stake you myself before you do, you got that?" As soon as she finished saying it, a wave of relief washed over her. She clearly should've tried insulting and threatening him from the beginning. The words just blurted out of her mouth.

They stared at each other in silence. Spike tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowing as he processed her words.

"I tried to tell you before, but you wouldn't listen. And I know it was my fault. I said it too late. Of course you didn't have to go ahead and die, you stupid bleached vampire. You're not allowed to die again without believing me. In fact, I forbid you from dying, period." She paused briefly to breathe before continuing, "And why are you so quiet? You always have a comeback, so stop my blabbering and put me out of my misery, please."

"You know, you can't go changing your mind whenever you sodding feel like it! 'Cause I've had enough of this _want-you-want-you-not_ game you've been playing. Brooding Forehead and I, right there at your disposal whenever you feel like entertaining yourself! We're not your bleeding playthings! We may not be humans anymore, but we have feelings, you know?"

"So you don't want me."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake Slayer, give a bloke a chance of faking some dignity!" He let out a heavy sigh. "Of course I want you, you stupid bint! I love you! I couldn't stop even if it bloody killed me, and it bloody well did."

"Sorry, I couldn't catch your meaning in the middle of all that cursing. What was it again?" She asked, the crooked smile on her face contradicting her words. He snorted before responding with a smile of his own.

"I love you, Buffy."

"I love you too, Spike." She knew her smile had grown into a really silly grin by now, but she couldn't control herself. And truth be told, she couldn't care less how she looked.

Spike took a step forward and tried to caress her face, careful so his hand wouldn't go through her skin. Buffy couldn't feel his touch. She felt cheated by all those supernatural romantic movies she'd seen all her life. Soon enough, her stupidity came crashing in on her - she should've waited until he got his body back! All she had accomplished by telling him now was torturing them both. What was the deal with those restrictions anyway? The PTB really liked to screw with her. First a no-sex restraint, now a no-_touching_ one? Unbelievable! But then she looked at him and felt stupid once again. His smile, the loving look in his blue eyes, the silly way he still had his hand against her face. His eyes held her as if she was everything, like she was a goddess even though she felt like a teenager.

She'd seen his devotion before, but all those times he had tried to conceal it, make it so that his love wouldn't scare her away. All the sweet moments they had shared before had been feeble displays of the intensity of his love; they didn't begin to do him justice. He'd do anything for her, anything at all. And yet, Buffy's insecurities were still there. She was so immature, so thickheaded. She knew she could be herself around Spike. She'd never have to pretend she was strong for his sake. But she wished she was, badly. Wished that he wouldn't have to be the one who always did the comforting, the one who always had to sacrifice himself. The one with everything to lose and nothing to gain.

It had taken a really long time, two deaths, tickets for Heaven and Hell, but he had become a part of her. And she would save him this time, no matter what.

"I don't want to interrupt the moment, really, because hey, I'm on Team Spike and you two are so adorable when you're not trying to kill each other."

They had been so immersed in each other that they hadn't notice the redhead entering the room. "I think the question here is why?" Buffy asked, wondering how much Willow had seen. Probably not the declaration of love or she would've left them alone. It was a girl code rule.

"Because Spike went looking for a way to be with you, he got a soul, and what did Angel… oh. You mean why I'm interrupting, not why I'm on Team Spike, right. I found a way to get Spike's body back."

They both turned to face her straightaway.

"Okay, that's a sound enough reason, Red. Do tell."

"You're not gonna like it."

* * *

**A/N:** Hello everyone!

I'm sorry it took me so long to update this story. I originally intended to publish it on Tuesday, but this chapter turned out to be way longer than all the others (perhaps even combined). I rewrote it several times before sending it to my beta and changed some more after that, it was really hard. Rachel's help was invaluable, I can't thank her enough!

It goes without saying that I neglected my study completely to write this. Now I have to face the punishment of reading several pages of Hegel. I always thought the dialectical method was a really cool way of looking at History, but it's not so fun when applied to Philosophy, trust me.

I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

The light footsteps on the floor above were loud and clear even for those in the room with no supernatural hearing. Willow had just finished explaining the spell again and Buffy was waiting for the others to process the idea. Waiting patiently (and quietly) wasn't really her style, but her mind was working in hyperdrive, conjuring up possible scenarios. She definitely wanted to avoid rushing into the spell and have her friends interrupting the incantation when she was too weak to stop them. That scenario, and obviously the one where she ended up dead, sucked. So yeah, they could think about it, and have all the doubts and fears brew inside. In the end, it was her blood – her decision.

Angel was the one who broke the silence. This atypically short brooding time was probably a record for him. "No, Buffy, it's too dangerous." _Peroxide's not worth the risk_ hung at the tip of his tongue.

Spike scrutinized Buffy's expression. This was the second time they had heard about the spell from Willow. And all the while, from Willow's interruption in Buffy's room to the relocation of the debate to Angel's quarters, Buffy hadn't uttered a single word about it. Yeah, like her face wasn't a dead giveaway. He shouldn't be surprised, if someone shouted 'Sacrifice!' from a thirty miles radius she'd come running before you could say 'stupid lamb'. _Well done Spike, you bloody made it to her loved ones list! And she's already making you regret it_. Oh, he'd kill for a cigarette, metaphorically speaking.

Shooting a quick sideways glance at Angel, Spike concurred in a deep voice, "I sodding agree with him, luv." The words left a sour taste in his mouth. He grunted and shook his head slightly, his eyes rolling up before continuing. "And I don't take Captain Forehead's side. Not bloody _ever_."

The whole _'Let them think about it'_ idea wasn't so good after all. Stressing her words, Buffy said, "It's the only way." Her eyes darted from Spike to Angel, finally stopping on Willow. The two vampires were against it, but her friend would support her. Girl power, right?

"We don't know that...not in a definitive _no-other-way_ way." Before even finishing her sentence, Willow recognized Buffy's expression and grimaced. Watching her pressed lips and strong gaze, along with the slight crease forming between her eyebrows almost made Willow stop talking altogether. But she was Buffy's friend, and friends must say unpleasant but necessary things when they are, well, _necessary_. Even if it means you're going to be completely ignored. "Maybe we should keep looking, Buffy."

"No, Will. We already have a spell and the main ingredient is standing right here. And since it's not dark magic…it's not dark magic, right?"

"No…but we're gonna need your blood, probably a lot of it. It's pretty dangerous, and it creeps me out too." Willow crossed her arms in front of herself, her right hand running up and down against her left arm. "Besides, there's no record of anyone trying it before and I'm not sure I can pull it off. It-it might not work and… and even if does, you could die."

"You said the same thing last time. Then you went all white and bright, and _adiós_ First Evil!" Judging by Willow's wrinkled brows and troubled eyes, the pep talk failed big time. That might have something to do with Buffy conveniently leaving out the part where Spike, Anya and a bunch of others _died_. But what could she do? Motivational speeches were about overcoming obstacles, not getting killed by impending apocalypses. "Okay, there's a huge list of cons, I get it. But it's still all we got."

"Buffy…." Spike reached for Buffy's shoulder with his hand. The gesture would've had more impact if she could actually feel it. She turned to face him with a steely look, shutting him out.

"I'm not letting you go back to Hell." Spike recoiled a little, just as he used to in the split-second before his self-preservation kicked in. Buffy bit her tongue, cursing herself for the authoritarian tone. It came out involuntarily, an old pattern that had lead to them fighting just to spite one another in the past.

The snappy retort never came this time, only the hurt and openness reflected in Spike's eyes. Idiot, stupid, shithead Buffy! How could she hurt him? Not an hour ago she was professing her love for him, and her stomach had fluttered like the first time she ice-skated and she grinned as if it was Christmas. And now…now, she decided, would be last time she caused him any pain. If the two of them were to have a real shot this time, she would have to stop being so pushy. "I'm sorry. I know you hate spells with unknown consequences."

Inhaling slowly, Buffy tried to sort her own feelings without the Slayer's aggressive shell. Spike didn't want to go back to Hell, but he clearly wasn't onboard of the whole 'drain Buffy's blood so I can be real again' plan. And she wasn't so keen on the risking her life part as well. But worse than the possibility of saving his life and dying was watching him go to and through Hell. Why couldn't she ever have a dilemma that only involved the options 'night club' or 'movie'? Was it too much to ask? "I don't want to compete about who sacrifices themselves more. But if you keep going to Hell, it'll destroy us both slowly. And if you never come back…if you never come back, I don't know what I'll do with myself. So please let me do this for you. If for no other reason, let me do it because if the situation was reversed, you'd do it for me."

They stared at each other for a moment. The wistful look in her eyes reinforced by unshed tears, the small freckles of brown in the sea of green holding a kaleidoscope of feelings, some he was sure were mirrored in his own eyes. But there were two thoughts very specific and also very important, reflected in her gaze. The first one was that she knew, as did he, that Spike couldn't say no to her. If Buffy were going to Hell for forced holidays, there would be no thinking on his part. No waiting for a possibly nonexistent alternative. He wished he could say he'd leave her there to save his own skin. It would make him the worst liar aliv…undead. Not to mention it could regress their relationship to that painful stage of half-words and mixed signals. Following his chain of thought, Buffy flashed him an apologetic smile. The second, more crucial one was that this wasn't some sort of martyr complex that had rubbed off on her from her time with Angel. She _wanted_ to live. Her only condition was that they did it together.

And as her look conveyed all of that, his unbeating heart felt crushed inside his chest. How could he be so bloody happy and so sodding miserable at that same time? She bloody _loved_ him. She was willing to do _anything_ for him, even risking her own life. And he couldn't stop her. "I can't lose you, Buffy."

"You won't, I promise."

"You're agreeing with this?" Angel all but spat the words. His anger targeted neither Willow for suggesting the spell, nor Buffy for wanting to do it. He lashed out at Spike instead, for letting her.

"You'd prefer I say '_No, Buffy, you can't do this' _and run off to another city?"

That was it. Angel took a step forward, forgetting that Spike couldn't take any hits in his ghostly state. Spike didn't, though, a smug half-smile growing in his face, accentuating his high cheekbones.

Before Angel could throw a punch, Buffy moved swiftly between him and Spike. Her hand closed around his fist, countering his aggressiveness with an increasingly strong hold. When she finally got Angel's attention focused on her, her words came out through clenched teeth. "This is _my_ decision, Angel. I'm not weak or defenseless. And I sure as hell don't need someone who keeps his distance only to come galloping to save me from myself whenever we disagree. You make your own decisions, I think I deserve the same right."

And that must have hurt – at least that's what Spike and Willow assumed. It was really hard to tell since suffering was Angel's everyday expression. After a dull stare at Buffy, the vampire stormed out of the room.

Buffy let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She had expected conflict, but that was…intense. She looked at Willow. Her expression looked like a cocktail – a cup of bewilderment with a twist of pride, on the rocks. Buffy's expression felt more like a glass of bottled emotions, spilled-over with an edge of freedom, umbrella on top. With an unspoken agreement, the two girls slumped on the couch. Spike sat on the floor, feigning a lean on the center table. He was still enjoying the kick from Buffy's words.

The debate had pretty much the same effect as a mystery novel for Willow. The pleasant yet unexpected displays of emotion kept her on the edge of a figurative seat. But the surprise made her miss something important, an implied piece of information that made her go back a few pages. When her mind managed to put the puzzle together, she spoke in a semi-accusatory tone. "You! The two of you! The bedroom moment…you're-you're a thing!"

Spike smiled at Red's sudden lack of coherence. He wanted to shout to anyone and everyone that Buffy loved him ever since she said the words. It was a juvenile feeling, but he didn't bloody care. They hadn't talked about it, but he assumed Buffy would want some time to prepare her friends for the news, which was the only thing that kept him from blurting it out when Willow showed her support before. He wanted to hug the little witch for figuring it out. His eyes never met Buffy's. All the nerve endings in his body were charged and if he looked at her he wouldn't keep his cool. He simply said, "She loves me," completely unaware that his smug smile and apparently indifferent words were deeply betrayed by his eyes.

Willow's mouth opened involuntarily, and her eyes widened. "She does?! I mean, you do?"

Buffy nodded, biting her lip to suppress a shy smile. She had learned from recent experience that if not stopped quickly, these things would grow into embarrassing grins. The smile was contained, but it didn't stop her voice from sounding coy. "Yeah."

Willow's happy expression appeared as quickly as it faded, her eyebrows scrunching towards her nose. "That's not fair, I'm the best friend. Shouldn't you tell me first?"

"Sorry…I was a little short on time."

"You're always short on time these days. First 'Spike's a ghost, sorry I didn't tell you, no time', and now this." Willow hugged a pillow, her shoulders hunching over it. She wallowed on the situation for a bit. Smiling bitterly, she continued, "Well, I guess it's okay. I already knew you loved him anyway."

_That_ was unexpected. The shock echoed in Buffy's voice, adding a high-pitched tone to it. "You did?"

Spike interrupted the conversation again, letting out a fond chuckle. "Sorry to tell you, pet, but Little Bit inherited all the secrecy genes."

Wavering a little, Willow agreed, "He's right. Giles knows it, and so does Faith. Well, I'd say most of the Slayers know."

Buffy let out a disappointed breath. She thought her act was pretty convincing. Dawn knew, but she was an annoying lie-detector in the form of a teenager. "Great. Is there anyone who doesn't know?"

Willow's eyes grew wider in excitement, her lips thinning into a self-satisfied smile when she spoke. "Oh, Xander doesn't. You can tell him."

Buffy made a face. "Yeah, _that_ will go well."

As she imagined Xander's reaction, Angel stormed back into the room.

His return after such a dramatic exit puzzled them. They stared at him intently, half-expecting to see a second head sprout out of his neck.

"I'm still against the spell, just so we're clear. But I'm exhausted."

They kept staring at him, more confounded than before. He stood there staring back at them. Since nobody made a move, he widened his eyes, eyebrows shooting up. It was an indicative of…something. Willow's associative skill was the first to kick in. "Oh, right, your bedroom. We're leaving."

Buffy and Willow were out of the couch in a heartbeat and out of the door in two. Spike took his time getting up from the floor and walked to the door as slowly as he could. Even the fact that Angel couldn't complain about him leaving the door open made him gloat. There was no such thing as pissing the ponce off _too much._

When Spike left the room, his steps gained speed as he trailed after Buffy and Willow. He assumed the girls would split and go to their rooms and he'd finally have some alone time with Buffy. Yet Willow's door came and went as she walked past it, still on the path to Buffy's room. When he realized they had no intention of catching a wink he protested. "Where do you think you're going? It's sleep time for you birds. Don't fancy having sodding horns because one of you dozed off during the chanting."

Willow and Buffy turned to face him in a weird synchronism, making Spike feel slightly corralled.

Sizing him up, Willow said, "He's cute when he's worried, isn't he?"

Outraged, Spike let out an "Oi!" He thought it over, and yeah, still outraged. "Excuse me?"

Buffy just ignored him. Excited, she said to Willow, "Totally! The '_I don't give a sodding damn about bleeding no one'_ act is so charming."

And then they _giggled_. He was trapped in a girly-girl conversation.

Spike looked up, raising his hands into an uplifted position for a moment. It was a silent complaint to whatever higher power that insisted on screwing him over. Nobody seemed to check the complaints box though, since the girls kept making emasculating comments about yours truly as they walked to Buffy's room. _Great, a sleepover!_ He snorted at the thought. "Oh, someone kill me now."

He would have to find another floor to sleep on this time.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey there! Chapter 5 is finally here!

I know it's taking me longer to publish, but it doesn't mean I've lost interest in the story. Quite the contrary, I love writing it and want it to come out as best as possible. But since nobody invented a fast learning machine like the one from The Matrix (a person can dream, right?), I'm going through the old time+effort method. Also, reading about writing and having a beta with a really good critical eye (Rachel is fantastic!) really helps. So please bear with me. :)

I want to send a big thank you to everyone that is following this story and an even bigger one to nrdhrd3, mom8828, thephoenixandthedragon4ever and JLK for reviewing it!

(To mom8828 and JKL - the website doesn't allow me to answer guest reviews, but your sweet words meant a lot to me!)

Let me know what you think, and see you guys in the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

_The night is ours_ – that was Buffy and Willow's response to the spell. Reality they had no control over would come crashing in the morning, but they had a choice. And they chose to _Carpe Noctem._ Granted, overdosing in chocolate and getting very few hours of sleep didn't sound very rebellious, at least not after puberty. But it was all so very daring of them - being _just girls_. It defied the responsible course of action. They didn't get plenty of sleep nor did they obsess over what they had to do the following day. And the most defiant part - they didn't say goodbye to their friends.

The sleepover wasn't a goodbye. It was the closest thing to 'see you later' they could think of. So they talked and laughed until their heads throbbed and their stomachs hurt. And shockingly enough, the world didn't end.

The hot water and mint-scented soap awoke Buffy's senses after the chocolate-induced sluggishness. Steam followed her outside the bathroom, a dramatic mist enveloping her all-black outfit and loose blond hair. The matching dark circles under her eyes were concealed with the help of makeup.

Willow had yet to go through the process of waking up. She was still curled up on Buffy's bed, half covered by the comforter, denying the gloomy reminder brought by the sun_. Sleep time was over. Repulsive spell time was on._ Willow shrank at the thought.

For such an early morning, Buffy's mood was almost offensive. She leaned over the bed and called Willow in a lively voice. "Okay, all showered up and ready. Your turn!"

Willow mumbled an unintelligible response, her body instinctively turning away from the chipper disturbance.

Buffy (aka, the chipper disturbance) tried again. "Will?"

Willow's eyes opened for the briefest moment. She mumbled the three most powerful magic words she could conjure at the moment, "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago when you pushed me out of bed to shower first."

Willow didn't respond. Buffy shook her head, letting out a short laugh, and then muttered under her breath, "Okay, you leave me no other choice." Taking a deep breath, Buffy sang out, "Willow, you're late for class!"

"Class!" The redhead sat up in a panic, pushing the comforter away as if it were responsible for her tardiness. Unable to get her drowsy brain to work, she anxiously turned to Buffy. "What class?"

Buffy's chewed on her bottom lip, her expression contrite. "Sorry, desperate times…"

"Oh." Willow blinked and rubbed her eyes as they grew accustomed to the light and her surroundings. She had started talking when a yawn came, its intensity bringing tears to her eyes and slurring her words. "I'm awake now."

"Yes, you are," Buffy shot a quick glance at Willow, the sight causing the left side of her mouth to twitch upwards. "…I think. Anyways," Buffy threw her towel over the stuffed chair. Pulling her hair back, she tied it into a high ponytail. "Do you have the list of ingredients?"

Still feeling sleepy, Willow slowly got to her feet. "I always carry some with me. You know, herbs, candles...it's just the, uh, the _other_ stuff we need to get."

"You mean the knife?"

"Well, that too. And two bowls. Oh, and a different chair. Angel will throw a fit if we ruin the armchair."

Buffy scowled. "He'd be glowering until next year." A light snort sounded, but it went unheeded as Buffy kept the conversation up. "So, what are the bowls for? Ooh, the spirits like cereal?"

Willow didn't smile, a pained expression forming in her face. "Actually, that's for your blood."

"Oh, shutting up now."

Another snort came. The girls frowned, confused by the recurrent noise. Willow tilted her head to the wall and they both held their breath, listening for any sounds. None came. Buffy's eyebrows furrowed, trying to place the familiar sound. She mouthed a voiceless "Spike?" to Willow, to which the redhead answered with a shrug.

Buffy meant to say something, but was hushed by Willow's waving hands. The redhead spoke instead. "Buffy, I have something I need to tell you." A mischievous smile spread across her face. Diverting her gaze from Buffy, she cupped a hand around her mouth and looked up as she continued in a fake raspy voice. "I can't stand it any longer. I love you, and I want to make sweet love to you right now."

The snort was loud this time as Spike crossed through the wall, his face wry. "Very funny, Red. A mate saves the world and the next thing he knows, he's your sodding laughingstock."

His resentful tone tricked Willow into apologizing. "Sorry, Spike." Then she caught onto him, her nostrils flaring indignantly. "Hey, you were eavesdropping! That served you right, mister. I'm leaving now."

Spike and Buffy glanced at each other, amused. Before Willow reached the door, however, Spike called out to her. "Hey, Red." She looked back, still affronted. He was serious this time. "Thanks for helping out."

Willow gave a little smile and left. Her friend gone, Buffy sat on the bed. Spike turned to face her. "How was the sleepover, pet?"

"Oh, you know, it was just…." Buffy's nonchalance was cut short by Spike's skeptical look. "Okay, it was awesome. We raided the mini-bar, ate lots of chocolate, talked about boys." Buffy scrunched her eyebrows together, and then corrected herself. "Well, I talked about boys. Willow talked about girls. Although she did mention Oz."

"Boys?" Spike asked, lifting his scarred eyebrow.

"Men, I mean." Buffy almost changed it again to 'vampire', but thought better of it. She didn't want him to know they'd been talking about him and Angel, although he probably suspected. She got up from the bed and walked around, toying with a strand of hair. Avoiding Spike's inquisitive gaze, she continued talking in an attempt to explain. "We, uh, we bashed exes who deserve it, and mooned over…and I invoke the 5th Amendment." Feeling more relieved, she looked into Spike's eyes. It was her turn to ask. "How was your night?"

Spike smirked at her ploy, but answered nonetheless. "Pretty dull. Spent most of it niggling Nancy-Boy. He told me to give you a message."

Buffy waited.

Spike protested with a huff. "Not his bleeding employee, luv. If he wants to tell you something he'll have to…"

The phone started ringing.

"Call me and tell me himself?"

"Yeah."

She smiled at his spite and walked to the phone. "Hello?"

"Um, Buffy?"

She looked at Spike, who was clearly pissed off by Angel's lack of trust. Amused by his surly face, she hid a smile and focused on the call. "Hey, Angel. What's up?"

"My team needed me at the office. Wolfram and Hart is downsizing, evil employees are being laid off."

_Passive voice, huh? That was new,_ Buffy thought, _Political Angel, go figure._ "Evil guys gave you an evil law firm, full of evil employees, and now you're gonna fire them all? That sounds fun. Wait, is that even legal? Didn't know _being evil to the bone_ was considered just cause."

"Don't really care. Listen, I called to talk about the spell."

"Shoot."

"Don't do it."

"Nice talking to you, Angel. Don't get sued."

"Wait, Buffy… Are you sure you want to do this? We can always exorcise him." Angel suggested.

"Oi! I heard that!" Spike protested.

"So much for a _private _conversation." Angel almost yelled on the speaker, talking to Spike instead of Buffy.

The unnecessary rise in volume only made Buffy more impatient. She rolled her eyes at their spat, and chose to ignore it. "Spike died saving the world, Angel. You wanna exorcise him?"

"He only did it once." He spoke accusingly.

"Yeah," Spike interrupted "Let's blame Spike for not bloody _dying_ more often."

"I'm with him this time, Angel. Gee, remind me never to become a ghost around you. How many deaths until you decide someone's worthy? Six?"

Angel's tone became more sullen. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh, no, you don't get to go all cryptic on me again. What _do_ you mean? Besides this stupid alpha male syndrome you have going on?"

Silence ensued.

"Thought so, goodbye Angel." Buffy ended the call then moved the nightstand to disconnect the phone. She got up, facing Spike. "I'll go get what we need."

* * *

Willow held the knife as if it was a strange object. This self-imposed detachment deluded her into believing she was calm. It wasn't until she looked at Buffy's extended arms that said detachment crumbled, and her whole body began shivering, convulsively so. Her stomach was the epicenter of the shudders, emanating in waves through her every muscle. Staring at the pallor of Buffy's skin with glazed eyes, she tried to wrap her mind around the idea of slashing her best friend. She would have to move fast, yet the steps and words she'd gone over a hundred times were scrambled together in her head. She stalled, trying to go over them again. _Left wrist, right wrist, burn thistle flower, chant_. She swallowed. One mistake and Buffy could bleed out.

Willow inhaled a breath and held it. Steeling herself, she forced her hand to grasp the blade properly. She let out the air quickly, making the first cut as she did. There was some spatter on the carpet. The flowing red was paralyzing, and the mere thought of pink muscle made Willow need to fight the urge to vomit.

Buffy winced as the cool blade tore her skin apart, her teeth grinding as she withstood the pain silently. Taking rapid, shallow breaths she changed her focal point to Spike. He was staring at her open wrist. Despite him being a vampire, his face was yellowish, his mouth slightly contorted. Then the second laceration came, less precise due to Willow's closed eyes.

The sight of Buffy's slit wrists was nauseating – long, upward cuts from the small blue veins in the wrist following the radial artery until the middle of her forearms. Buffy let her arms hang limply at the sides of the chair. Her blood ran down her palms and fingers until it dripped from her fingertips to the black bowls on the ground.

Willow quickly got up and reached for the thistle flower. The sudden movement made Spike raise his eyes to Buffy's. The despairing blue was made more vivid by his tears. His mouth was no longer contorted in a grimace. Instead, his lips were now pressed together in an attempt to keep his lower lip from quivering.

"I invoke thee, Hecate, goddess of crossroads. Hear our humble plea; allow Spike a safe return to his path. Hecate, goddess of ghosts. With enemy's blood, freely given, restore the flesh that once was." The words got caught in her throat the first time, as if she didn't have enough breath to say them. Then the spell took over, and they came out repeatedly in a fervent prayer.

Buffy started to feel the cold. It started at her fingertips, numbing her so that she no longer felt the blood running down her skin. Her neck began bending forward with more ease than it stood straight. Her head seemed to weigh a ton, yet she kept on pushing her chin up, not giving in to the weariness.

Spike had come closer, his bright blond hair and pale skin standing out as her vision slowly darkened on the edges. She blinked once, twice, taking longer to drag her eyelids open each time. Spike urged her in a desperate voice. "Stay with me, pet. Come on, Buffy."

A figure moved behind him. Buffy looked past Spike, forcing her eyes to see. They stopped responding altogether and a second later she was engulfed in darkness.

In the moments that followed, she could hear the desperation in Spike's voice scale. Pet names mingled with her own.

From the blackness, another voice came. "_Drip-drip-drip_ goes my prey's slit limbs. Oh, my darling, you'll _bleed_…."

And then she blacked out.

Willow tumbled to the floor, knocked out. Buffy lay unconscious on the chair, yet Spike's hands still went through her. He cursed repeatedly, his vision blurred by anger and desperation. The spell didn't work. They shouldn't have gone through with it.

And now she could die. No, she _would_ die. She bled more each second her cuts weren't tend to, and her body temperature was falling. His stomach clenched with the thought. He turned away from her, trying to get himself together. They needed to warm Buffy as quickly as possible, before the ill coloring of her skin turned permanent and her muscles became stone-rigid. Willow had to do it. Yet she lay on the ground like a toy thrown out by some ungrateful child. Spike hurried to her side, wishing he could shake her awake. A sense of impotence grew inside at the same rate as his despair. He called Willow over and over again. "Red? Come on, wake up. Oh God, _please_ wake up, Red. I'll never ask you for anything else, just help me out."

Willow's eyes opened, but they were no longer green. Her pupil and iris were gone, leaving only glowing white eyeballs. Spike's first reflex was to get away from her, but she crept forward, her fingers locking around his hand before he could step back.

Spike yanked, trying to free himself. The shock of being touched didn't set in.

A guttural voice came through Willow's lips. "I grant you matter."

Her arm lit as if lava coursed through it. Once it reached her hand, Spike could feel the burning in his own hand, spreading from the small portion of skin touched by Willow. As it went up his arm, he tugged at his duster's sleeve, afraid he was literately catching on fire. But before he could take the duster off, the burning reached his shoulder, covering more skin and making it harder to tell which parts were being affected. When it reached his eyes, he stumbled back. Free from the witch's grasp, he covered his eyes as the sizzling pain flared along his optic nerve. He grunted like an animal being slowly slaughtered. But nothing could be compared with what came next. His internal organs were being carved from what seemed to be a giant mass of extremely sensitive nerves. For a moment, he thought he was being punished. He belonged in Hell.

Then the burning stopped. Spike crouched down, almost tucking his head between his knees. His hands covered his ears protectively, as if he was preparing himself for a massive explosion. But the room was silent except for his labored breathing.

Willow blinked, her green eyes showing. Disoriented, she looked for Spike to see if the spell had worked. He was by the bed in a distressed position. _Maybe it didn't work. Buffy…no, I can't think that. _She called him tentatively. "Spike?"

He turned his head towards her, lowering down his left hand to the floor between his feet, the other one supported on his right leg. Willow cringed back a little. His forehead was distorted into his game face, his yellow eyes made more disturbing by bloodshot veins. He growled, his raised upper lip revealing his fangs.

His bestial behavior contrasted with the rest of his residual self-image. He was dressed as the Spike who died saving the world. But the way he tilted his head as he looked at Willow was feral. He looked inhuman, ready to leap at his prey.

His body convulsed, and Willow looked at the door, preparing herself to run. When she got up, he snarled in an irritated tone at her, "Covers, Red. Buffy's dying, we need covers."

Willow stopped at her tracks. Her ears heard that, didn't they?

She turned, half-expecting it to be a trap and have him jumping at her, only to see Spike crawling to Buffy's side. She couldn't see his eyes anymore. But she did see his fingertips tucking Buffy's bangs behind her ear. Willow ran to the empty room across the corridor, quickly stripping the bed of its linens. When she came back, Spike was hovering over Buffy's cuts, going in and out of his game face.

She stepped forward cautiously. "Spike, what are you doing?"

"Trying to close her wounds." His hands closed into fists and he punched the floor. "Dammit! I can't stop changing!"

"Doesn't matter, just do it already!"

Spike's game face took control. He quickly licked Buffy's forearms, causing her torn skin to come back together. He swept her limp body in his arms, and Willow rushed ahead to pull the bed sheets away from the bed. Spike laid Buffy down carefully on the bed and adjusted her position so her neck and head rested comfortably on the pillow. Once they finished covering her with everything in reach, Spike went for the heater, adjusting it to the highest temperature the old equipment could handle. His body seized again, more intensely this time, and then he collapsed unmoving on the floor.

"Spike!" Willow knelt by his side and shook him a little, to no avail. "Spike? Oh my God, what did I do?"

She needed to get help.

_Angel_, she would have to call Angel.

The ringing tone went unnoticed as Willow glanced back and forth from Buffy's body to Spike's. The sound of voice brought her back. "Angel's office, how can I help you?"

"Harmony, I need to speak with Angel."

"Willow? Oh my God, how long has it been? How are you?"

"Harmony, get me Angel now!"

"Ugh, are you still mad because of that little incident? I'm not on people's blood anymore. Besides, Angel isn't here."

"What do you _mean_ he's not there?"

"I mean he's away somewhere, _duh_. He does that a lot. Do you want to leave a message?"

"A message? I don't want to leave a damn message, Harmony! I. Need. Angel."

"Gee, no need to be rude." In a subdued voice, as if she had covered the speaker lightly, Harmony said, "Oh, hi Wesley."

"Wesley! Harmony, put Wesley on the phone."

"I'm not your secretary, you know."

"NOW!"

"Okay, okay." Again in a muffled voice, she said. "Wesley, Willow wants to talk to you."

"Hello, Willow. Did you call about the books –?"

"No, Wesley, I need your help. I think I killed Buffy and Spike."

* * *

**A/N:** Hey everyone!

Sorry for the delay. The reason it took me so long to publish was that this chapter first draft looked like a Frankenstein. With the added detail that its parts had missing parts.

Every time I looked at it, it mocked me. _You're a fraud. You're not a real doctor *_cough, writer_*_. _You can't bring me to life._

So my beta told me to chop it (ok, her actual words were outline and keep the absolutely necessary, but humor me). And so I slashed it over and over. It didn't say a word afterwards mwuahaha

*psycho writer moment over*

Thanks to everyone following this story! And a big hug to Draconi9 and rose0810 for the reviews! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and it helps keeping me motivated, so if you've got time, leave a review below. :)

Hope you all enjoy!

BHS


	7. Chapter 7

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

Willow checked Buffy's pulse for the seventh time. She sighed, relieved – the beat was still there. When Wesley told her he'd come right away, she caught herself looking at the door, expecting to see him there immediately – which was absurd, of course, if not impossible. With clenched hands, she got up and walked around the room, her steps following the exact same path over and over again. _Five…six…seven. Check Buffy's vitals. One…two…three… _The rattling noise of the mini-bar tricked her into looking at the door once. Besides that, the only time her eyes deviated from the floor or Buffy's face was when she shot a glimpse at Spike, who lay on the floor, still as —. She pressed her fingertips harder against her palms, fingernails biting deeper into her skin, and looked away, resuming her routine.

Wesley opened the door at the same moment Willow's left foot touched spot number four, which placed her facing away from him. She would remember it later, since the squeaky hinge caught her attention and she turned abruptly, losing her balance in the process.

"Willow!" If not for the millisecond delay in noticing her imminent fall, his hand would've grasped hers as he lunged forward. As it was, Wesley's shout surprised her, robbing her of the opportunity to shield herself from the fall. Her elbow hit the bed right before her face slammed against the carpet. He rushed to her side, and gently helped her to a kneeling position. There was no moan, no complaints of any sort. Her head hung low, making it difficult for him to assess the severity of the blow. "Are you okay?" She lifted her head a little, her expression remaining concealed. Her gaze was fixed on the ground. "Physically, I mean?"

Trails of tears glinted across her face as she nodded. Forgetting himself, Wesley placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her head. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips tighter. Her left cheek was red from the fall and he suspected her elbow would require tending as well. Having been hit in the face more times than he would've liked, Wesley was well acquainted with the throbbing she might be feeling. Yet her reaction to the pain spoke volumes. Disconcerted by his concern for her and scared of pushing her further away, he inquired after Buffy and Spike. Perhaps his pragmatism would be of more assistance to her than his tenderness. "Tell me what happened."

Willow opened her eyes, her gaze lowered, and blinked a new set of tears. Her lip trembled, and much like her irregular breathing her attempts to steady it were fruitless. When Wesley pulled her forward into an awkward hug, she gave up trying to hold them back. Tears and sobs freed themselves, forming a damp spot at the collar of his beige sweater. Wesley's hands ran soothingly up and down her arms as she clung to him. When her crying softened, Willow pulled back, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, so she focused on a tiny pattern on the comforter as she attempted to explain what had happened. "I fou-found —." She gulped for air. "I did a s-spell. I-I asked Hecate to return Spike's body, using Buffy's blood. She's…she's…."

"Is she dead?" The moment the word left his mouth, he cursed himself. Willow blanched, her eyes darting up to his.

"I missed a check, I need to — I'll go —"

Before she could get up, Wesley's hands were back on her arms, holding her down softly. "Shhh…I'll do it."

He stood up and walked around the bed. It was odd to see his former Slayer in such a vulnerable position. When he pressed his index and middle finger under Buffy's jaw, he almost wished she'd make a snappy remark and punch his face, but she just remained still. He waited for a reaction a little longer, before looking at his watch and counting silently. "Her pulse is a little weak," He removed his fingertips from her neck and placed the back of his hand to Buffy's forehead. "Her temperature is also low, but I believe she'll be fine. Did you stop the bleeding?"

"Spike did."

Wesley glanced at the unconscious vampire. "What happened to him?"

"He seized and then collapsed. Do you think he's —" The "D" word was still a no-go.

"Dead? No more than usual."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite so. Given the circumstances, I believe he would've dusted away otherwise."

Willow hugged her knees, whispering to herself. "I didn't kill them. They're alive. I didn't — I didn't kill them."

"I'll just —" Wanting to console her, yet unsure whether or not he should, Wesley looked around, trying to make himself useful to her. By the time Willow stopped her little reassuring mantra, Wesley was hovering over Spike's body, searching for clues as to what had happened.

"Wesley, don't!" His head snapped up in surprise, his expression puzzled. "Get away from him. I think…I think he lost his soul."

As a safety measure, Wesley backed away from the unconscious vampire and returned to Willow's side. She had sounded distraught as they spoke on the phone, but he had assumed the only ones in danger were Spike and Buffy. "Why would you think that? Did he attack you?"

"He looked like he wanted to. He was feral, and his eyes were bloodshot. Like an addict, only fanged."

He couldn't imagine what would've happened to Willow (and Buffy, of course) if Spike had remained conscious. He hardened his gaze for the first time since he entered the room, his lower lip pushed up slightly. "There must be handcuffs or rope in our weaponry chest. I'll see to it."

"Wait, you wanna _handcuff_ him?"

"You said his behavior was primal. It's quite possible that Hecate left his soul out of the bargain. And if he's anything like Angelus —"

"He's not." Willow let out a bitter laugh. For some reason, the memory of Spike's attempt to bite her after receiving the chip came to her mind. "He's evil, but in a more feisty way."

"Even then, it's not wise to let him loose while Buffy's unconscious."

Wesley's train of thought seemed very logical. That is, if they weren't dealing with the only exception to the _evil vampire + unconscious slayer = dead slayer_ rule. "Angel never told you how Spike got his soul, did he?"

"No, he kept Spike's soul a secret. Intentionally, I believe. Though I'm not sure why."

"Why am I not surprised?" Willow scoffed. Angel's jealousy had surfaced many times over the years, even, and especially, when he had no right to be jealous. Yet no one seemed to bring the worst in him as a certain blond vampire did. "Spike wasn't cursed with a soul, he _sought_ one. He fell for Buffy while he was just a demon, but given our experience with Angelus, none of us considered it possible that Spike could love. It took me a while to accept it, and even now I'm not sure Buffy does or wants to. But it became hard to deny it after he got a soul to stay with her."

A crease formed between his eyebrows as Wesley reached for his glasses, forgetting he no longer wore them. "That's unprecedented."

Willow chuckled sadly. "That's an understatement." Running her hands over the uninjured side of her face, she asked. "God, what will I tell Buffy when she wakes up? 'Hey Buffy, glad you're feeling better. I broke your vampire boyfriend and took away his soul. Best wishes.'"

"Perhaps you didn't."

"What?"

Wesley approached Spike, his eyes scrunched up in equal parts distrust and scrutiny. If he had a book in hand and held a pair of glasses between his lips, Willow could've pictured Giles doing the same. Apparently, the Council's ways were hard to shake. "You mentioned he seized?"

"Yes, why?"

"I have a theory." Lifting a finger, he looked back at Willow. "It might be a long shot, but...many years ago, I read a study of a fellow member of the Council, Ivor Adkins. He studied vampiric behavior under extreme circumstances. I recall a set of reactions quite similar to the ones you described. Do you know long has it been since Spike's 'second' death?"

"Almost a month."

"What if Hecate restored his body as of the moment following his death? He would've spent this time without sleep nor —"

"Blood." Willow's eyes grew wider. "You think he's starved?"

"Like I said, it is a long shot, but —"

"No, you might be right. He didn't harm Buffy because he loves her, but when he tried to close her wounds, his face kept changing. He was surrounded by blood, so maybe he was trying to fight it?"

"I'll fetch some of Angel's pig blood."

* * *

Deep carmine, bordering on burgundy, flowing thickly down her open veins. Metallic flavored droplets melted in his saliva as the rich smell of rust overpowered him. _Only a little_, he told himself. _A lick would do no harm_. The stillness of death already plagued the room, so no one would blame him for taking a sip. His stomach rumbled in encouragement. _Just a taste_, he decided. Only enough to ease the writhing in his bowels. He savored the anticipation, rolling up his tongue as his eyes fluttered closed. He could hear the faint heartbeat, took it as an invitation. With each slow pump her body offered more and more blood. He carefully lifted her slit wrist, so that the height would perfectly match his kneeling position. His fingers held the inert hand. The cool skin didn't bother his lips – the temperature seemed natural. Soon her blood was pouring down his scorched throat.

Fulfillment had been an illusion - the more he took, the more his demon demanded. The writhing only became worse, so he sucked harder. He opened his eyes when her heartbeat stopped. A single glance at the purplish hued fingernails was enough to let him know that something was wrong – he remembered their formerly pinkish color. He dropped the arm as if it was on fire, his demon clawing his soul in protest. His gaze traveled up, taking in the skin's ashen shade of gray, so very faded compared to the black tank-top she was wearing. Her head had sagged forward at some point, the tight jaw keeping her blue tinted lips closed, but not pressed. Nose and cheeks looked the same as before, apart from their sickly coloring. Her passionate gaze was now reduced to glassy jade eyes, as lifeless as those of a porcelain doll. In them, he could see what he'd done.

Spike wept, running his hands over his face, her blood smudging all over. He took her gray hands into his bloody ones and bent over, kissing her cold knuckles repeatedly.

Until his lips found their way to her blood again.

Spike struggled to get away from the blood, the taste of it repulsing him. Wesley gripped Spike's arms harder to keep him in place, as Willow held a blood bag in her hand, unsure of what to do. When they first opened the bag, Spike had been completely knocked out, which allowed them to feed him a great deal of it with ease. It wasn't until half the blood had entered his system that he began to resist it. In his semi-conscious state, he spoke incoherently, words of apology and self-loathing. The recurring and most comprehensible was _No_.

Willow tried to calm him. "Spike, it's okay. We're here." His eyes flashed open, yellow but unfocused. She recoiled, the fear reflected in her green eyes capturing his attention – green eyes. The light brown flecks weren't there, Willow's eyes had a darker rim of brown around the pupils. Apart from that they were similar enough. Spike tried to back away from her, but Wesley restrained his movements.

"I…I…Buffy."

"She's gonna be okay. She's on the bed, right there, remember? You're starved," Willow held out a blood bag to him. "We're feeding you pig's blood. You need to eat."

"I killed her. I killed Buffy. KILL ME!"

"He's hallucinating. We're gonna need more blood." Wesley said.

"Or," The door flung open, and Angel glanced at Buffy from a distance. "We can do just as he asked."

He marched in their direction. Before either Willow or Wesley could react, Angel was next to them, his fist slamming against Spike's face. "Angel, stop!" Willow said, dropping the nearly dried blood bag to the floor. "What are you doing?"

"He did this to her. He deserves it." A second jab came, knocking Spike unconscious.

Unsatisfied, Angel prepared for a third. In an attempt to stop him, Willow got in his way. "He didn't do this to Buffy, she gave him no choice. I'm the one who came up with the spell. I _performed_ it. If you wanna take it out on someone, I'm the one to blame."

Angel didn't budge, his anger flowing freely. Wesley set down Spike and stood up. Placing a firm hand on Angel's shoulder, he said. "Angel, a _word_."

When the vampire didn't respond, Wesley gripped his shoulder harder. If it was necessary to get Angel away from Willow, he would make the vampire lose his balance. Some sense must have reached Angel, because despite his pissed off expression, he got up and exited the room.

Before following him out, Wesley added. "You're not any more responsible about it than Spike is, Willow. You're an exceptional friend, and I'm convinced they're well aware of that."

Willow's answer was the tiniest of half smiles and a concerned front. As Wesley closed the door, she reached for a new blood bag and began feeding it to Spike.

Wesley left the room in search of Angel. If the vampire was sulking, which he most certainly was, his bedroom was the safest bet.

Wesley didn't knock, his disregard for etiquette a statement in itself. The vampire was pacing back and forth, cracking the knuckles of his freshly bruised hand. Wesley's pulse was racing, but luckily for Angel, he had a clear idea of what self-restraint meant. He confronted Angel through clenched teeth. "Whatever the hell were you doing? You held your fist to a girl."

Angel kept on pacing, looking at the floor. His tone was somewhat high-pitched when he answered. "I wasn't gonna hit her, Wes."

"Yeah? I'm not so convinced about that. You _punched_ a delirious vampire that posed no threat and was in no condition of defending himself. Whatever on earth is going on with you?"

Angel didn't answer.

"Very well, sulk as you want. But I highly suggest you do so as far away from Buffy's room as possible."

* * *

Spike woke up with a sizzling in his ears. He felt as if in an alternate reality – the room refused to stand still and every sound and smell was blown out of proportion. The bed foot was the first thing his hand came across as he groped for support. With some effort and a great deal of vertigo, he pulled himself to a sitting position. His head moved slowly as he examined his surroundings. The candles, herbs and bowls were gone, but he was still in Buffy's room. Traces of her vanilla and mint scent lingered, despite the strong smell of blood from a dozen empty blood bags lying around him. A whiff revealed their origin – pig blood in a fancy package. Thanks to his heightened senses, he could tell Buffy was fine - her breathing was weaker than the other two in the room, but steady enough to mean she'd be okay.

He pushed the bags away as he tried to kneel, the crackling sound getting Willow's attention. "Wesley?"

"'Been called many things, Red, but that's a first."

"Spike!" She got out of the bed, trying her best not to disturb Buffy. Glancing back and forth from Spike getting up to Wesley sleeping on the armchair, Willow picked up something from the nightstand then moved to stand between the two. When Spike faced her, she clutched the object in her hand, and then stated. "Your eyes are blue."

"You used to be more observant." He closed his eyes and pressed two fingertips just above his temple. "What the hell is going on?"

When she didn't answer, he opened his eyes. Her defensive stance was made obvious by the metal cross in her right hand. It was the bloody _why_ that remained a mystery. She was suspicious, that much was clear by her scrunched brows, but there was a tiny hint of fear in her eyes that he couldn't quite grasp.

As if it could mask her shaking, she asked defiantly. "Do you want to bite me?"

"Hell, no."

"Oh, okay." She lowered the cross. "That's good."

"Red_._" Spike insisted, even though his head begged for her to shut up and stop breathing so loud.

"You didn't look so good after the spell. I thought you might have lost your soul."

"Pretty sure I haven't. Had the worst nightmare of my life, though."

"You were hallucinating, Buffy's fine."

"I can hear her breathe." _'Cause that doesn't sound like a stalker at all, Spike. _"Thanks for looking after her."

Willow crossed her arm over her body, her hand resting on her inner elbow. "She's my friend." Hastily, she added. "Not that I wouldn't do it for you if she wasn't and you needed it. You're a friend too."

He felt a sharp sting when he tried to smile. Leading a finger to his mouth, he asked "When did my lip split open?"

"Um, Angel showed." Her face held an apologetic look. Her face also held a nasty bruise. "Sorry, I tried to stop him…."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike stepped closer, his borrowed blood boiling in his veins. "That wanker did this to you? I'm gonna kill him."

"Oh no, I fell, face first. Clumsy old me." Spike looked over her expression, assessing whether she meant it. She misinterpreted the sudden attention and traced the wound lightly. "Does it look as bad as it hurts?"

He softened his gaze. "It's bruised, so put some ice to it. It'll go away after a few days."

"You mean _after_ it goes through the purple, green and yellow stages." Willow grimaced, then winced, only to realize doing _anything_ hurt.

On the armchair next to them, Wesley awoke with a light snore that incidentally happened to be his own. He blinked a couple of times, and then looked up to find Willow within Spike's biting range. He was on his feet so fast he almost lost his grip on the stake. "Spike, get away from her."

"It's okay, Wesley," Willow assured him, "He's ensouled."

"Oh." Wesley lowered the stake, and righted his clothes. "Very well, then."

Spike glanced at the Giles version from Angel's team. "What's Percy doing here?"

"Wesley?" Willow asked. "He helped, he was the one who thought you might be starving."

"He did, huh?" Spike slowly moved to stand before him, glancing at his pompous outfit. "What's with the sweater?"

Thrown out by the unexpected question, Wesley looked down. "It was chilly outside. Although I suppose I don't need it anymore."

"'Suppose you don't. Take it off."

"Excuse me?"

"Your sweater, take it off." Spike reached out a hand, waiting. "Don't worry, mate, I'll do you a favor and burn it later."

Wesley looked at Willow. "Are you sure he has his soul?"

She shrugged, giving him a half-smile. "Well, once a bully…"

* * *

A bright orange tone penetrated through Buffy's eyelids. Coupled with the heat, it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine she'd fell asleep at the beach, though the angry voices and lack of salty smell told her a different story. When her eyes refused to open and she couldn't speak, she freaked out internally, a feeling that was soon toppled by overwhelming fatigue.

Before she knew it, the orange had subdued to a tone so close to black she only managed to tell them apart when a shadow briefly eclipsed the light. She could hear whispers, words spoken too low to distinguish yet loud enough to expose their familiar accents. Keeping her cool, she focused her momentary energy and moved her finger just an inch. The voices kept on going, her gesture concealed by the avalanche of covers on top of her.

Gentle hands moving her body got her conscious the next time. It was no longer dark, the bright orange tone had returned but from the wrong place. This time she didn't bother trying. Her previous efforts did nothing except add to her exhaustion, so she silently thanked whoever was carefully pouring liquid into her mouth. Her head was placed back on the pillow, and a _click_ took the light away.

The next morning – and she knew it was morning because her eyes had decided to cooperate – a pungent smell inflamed her sinus. _Nicotine_. It made her want to sneeze and sigh with relief at the same time. The sigh won the battle, and she called softly. "Spike?"

"Try again, _my darling_."

**A/N**: Here's another chapter, folks! And I managed to keep the schedule this time, ha!

Many thanks to everyone who's reading and a huge thank you to Vivi H88, thephoenixandthedragon4ever and mom8828 for the reviews! Really, it's like winning a puppy for Christmas - many, many puppies. *-*

Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

BHS


	8. Chapter 8

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

Spike finished his smoke and got up from the couch. The hotel's weak yellow lighting did a poor job at night, giving an eerie medieval aspect to the old lobby. As he climbed up the first flight of stairs, the courtyard glass door revealed a more natural, although just as weak, brightness. The full fountain came into view once he reached the plateau, its water jets gleaming under the moonlight. He stared at them, not really looking, just giving his body a moment to rest without really doing so.

"So, it's 'die and get a sweater' day? You really should leave that kind of clothing to Giles. It makes him look like an accountant, you just look…gay."

"That's bloody hilari — Bit?"

Dawn crossed her arms. "I don't think that's a word."

In his semi-aware state, he had missed Dawn coming in from the front door, missed her steps toward him, and had even missed the _thud_ from her overstuffed duffel bag as she intentionally dropped it on the ground to get his attention. Spike watched as she quickly climbed the three steps that separated them.

'_What are you doing here_', '_how did you get here_' and '_how are you_' were the only questions that popped into his mind, but for once he chose silence over some idiotic conversation starter.

She had a dauntless expression on her face, that impassive look she wore when she was angry – usually at her sister. Not a single facial muscle moved as they looked at each other. A few seconds later, the space between her eyebrows creased and she poked his stomach with all the softness of a punch.

He watched as her façade crumbled into shock – she didn't expect her finger to meet his flesh. "It worked...it really worked." Her eyes went from his stomach to his face. "And Buffy?"

A bit of dust got caught in his eye. How could he explain?

Dawn caught his hand and tugged it down. They sat on the red carpeted step. "Willow — well, _Wesley_ told me you tried a spell. I know it wasn't a regular one or they wouldn't have called."

He faked an interest on the lobby's marble floor. "Percy did, huh?"

"Spike, tell me what happened."

So he did.

Her reaction was not what he expected. She was too calm, too optimistic when she should be screaming, or crying, or hitting him. Maybe she didn't want to understand.

Mildly irritated at Spike's '_you're-in-denial_' look, Dawn got up. "My moronic sister almost got herself killed, I get it. She does that a lot, and it's really annoying." Her gaze softened a little. "But she did it for you, not to save the world from the next apocalypse. I can't get mad at her this time. Just don't tell her that.

She caught a trace of a smile on his face as he stood up. "Let's go, Bit."

Spike took her to Buffy's room where he'd stayed all day and most of the night. Red had kept him company for a good ten hours, until Percy insisted they took turns and urged her to get some sleep.

When Dawn and Spike entered the room, the former watcher was shifting positions on the armchair. He rose immediately to greet them. "Dawn! You made it."

"Hi, Wesley. Thanks for calling me. And thanks for the ticket, I'll pay you back."

"That's hardly necessary. Did Spike—?"

"He told me. How is she?"

"Stable. It might take her a few days to wake up, however."

"I know my sister. Before we know it, she'll be kicking ass and making bad puns about it."

"We all hope so…do you still need me?"

Spike walked over to the side of the bed. "I'll take it from here, Wesley."

Wesley's eyebrows drew closer together as Spike said his name for the first time. His expression raised a smile from Dawn. "That's Spike for 'thank you'. I'm grateful too."

Wesley's eyes widened slightly. "Don't mention it. Well, good night then."

They stayed with Buffy as the pitch dark night dimmed before the sun's marigold tones. Soon the morning had come and clouds covered the sky in a gray cloak.

The Bit had dragged the armchair to Buffy's side. She refused to sleep in her big sister's bed, worried she might toss and turn and end up accidentally hurting her. She fought to stay awake, yet her eyes kept closing until she fell asleep – half sitting, half leaning over the bed.

Spike checked the bathroom, the corridors and even the space under the bed before he left the Summers girls alone so he could pick the lock of a room nearby, one that still had clean bed linens left. When he returned, he checked again – nothing. Good, he wouldn't have to call His Royal Poncyness to watch over her in the – what, three minutes? – that it would take him to carry Nibblet to her very own bed. The girl deserved to get a proper wink.

He checked all the nooks and crannies again, just to be sure. The window didn't go unchecked – he held the sweater' sleeve with his fingers and rubbed off the condensation from the glass. The weather outside looked nothing like the tropical temperature he had set in Buffy's room. A pair of pigeons cooed at him from the windowsill, their necks still hidden under their fluffed up body. Spike shooed them – he bloody wouldn't take any chances.

He adjusted Dawn's back so that she would lean against the armchair before sweeping her into his arms. Watching her head as he went out of Buffy's room and again as they entered the empty room, he carried her to the bed, placed some covers over her, then drew the curtains. He heard a dull noise as he walked the corridor, but thought nothing of it. As he reached the opened door, the first thing he noticed was the empty bed. The second was Buffy standing between the bed and the dresser. Her hair was messy and she favored her left side a little, but her fingers were wrapped around an armed crossbow.

She glared at him, her index finger hugging the trigger tighter.

"I am _so_ gonna kill you."

Then she fired.

*** _Two minutes earlier _***

When Buffy woke up the next morning – and she knew it was morning because her eyes had decided to cooperate – a pungent smell inflamed her sinuses. _Nicotine_. It made her want to sneeze and sigh with relief at the same time. The sigh won the battle, and she called softly. "Spike?"

"Try again, _my darling." _The answer came in a hoarse voice, one she had heard before.

She tried to place it. The air crackled with a coldness that penetrated the three layers of covers on top of her. Her fingertips felt icy as they brushed her goose bumped skin. And she swallowed a lump in her throat as the memory finally came to mind. _Drip-drip-drip, goes my prey's slit limbs..._

Oh God, she hadn't imagined it.

Buffy pushed herself onto her elbows, and the sudden movement made the room spin before her eyes. Willing the dizziness away, she focused on the wall directly in front of her – the spot next to the open door. The figure standing there stood perfectly still until her sight stabilized and his features became sharp.

He looked human – a creepy one for sure. His face held a weary look, with two vertical wrinkles marking the beginning of his nose where his eyebrows should start. Short, light colored hair framed his face. His clothes were stuffy – they reminded her of a Civil War painting in a book she should've read while in High School, instead of just looking at the pictures. But the scarf – or whatever that white napkin tied around his neck was – and the non-military coat betrayed it as a way older "fashion". He didn't strike her as one of Angel's friends.

"Who are you?"

"Ooh, the _fear_. I can almost taste it."

"Who. Are. You."

"Such curiosity. I'd say you should know, considering that you stole my toy."

Buffy cast a quick glance sideways. Good, her bag was within reach.

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell." She pushed the covers away with her feet, slowly yet constantly, her eyes fixed on his. "Besides, aren't you too old to play with toys? I know men never _really_ grow up, but still…."

"A fiery little girl; this shall be entertaining." His gaze darted from her face to her feet and back. He tilted his head down, the dark rings under his eyes made more pronounced by the movement. "You take me for a fool. I assure I'm not…none of my prey gets away."

She stopped. _Damn his predator instincts._ "Prey?"

"You are not my first one, that wouldn't do, would it? Don't feel jealous, soon you'll get to play with the others. All of us will have such fun, my darling."

Buffy rolled her eyes. With a pull, she shoved the covers from her body and rolled off the bed. Her body didn't respond as well as she would've liked, as her soon-to-be-bruised hip could confirm, but she still managed to reach inside her bag for a weapon. Crossbow, lucky her.

Her legs shook as she forced herself to stand. The 'man' was a good two steps closer when she managed to load the weapon. She had the tip of the wooden arrow pointed at his heart before he could move any further.

"I am so gonna kill you." Without blinking, she fired. He didn't move. The arrow quivered as it was propelled forward, the wood slashing through the mass of air that stood in the way of its mark. This slight trepidation was too insignificant compared to the force of the bolt. The arrow went through the visitor's heart as he provoked her with a silent smile. He vanished before she could feel the taste of victory. The arrow didn't. Buffy gasped as she saw Spike standing in its way. She watched, horrified, as the wooden point lodged in his chest, only a couple of inches below his left collarbone. Convinced she'd killed him, she couldn't look away from the wound. She exhaled as blood dyed his beige sweater a new color in a slowly spreading stain. Spike slid down the wall to the ground. She was by his side as fast as her weak body could take her. "I'm sorry. I didn't…"

He clenched his jaw, his eyes closed. Through shallow breaths and using the most vicious tone he could pull, he said, "Missed. Wanna take another shot, Slayer?"

_Slayer._

"Spike, listen to me." She placed a hand behind his neck. "I didn't shoot you. Please let me take it out."

Spike faced her, his eyes distant. He didn't protest as she reached for the arrow, but his jaw remained clenched. She pulled it out, his body jerked with the motion. "Last chance, Slayer."

_There it was again – Slayer. _She put down the bloodied bolt. _In a loving relationship, is it okay to punch your boyfriend? Just once or…twenty times? _"I love you. I don't want you dead. I was just trying to kill the demon from the spell."

"What demon?"

"Mr._ I'll make bad rhymes as you bleed to death_. He showed up before I lost consciousness."

"There wasn't anyone else in the room."

"I'm not crazy. Wait, you don't think I am, right?"

"No, luv."

Buffy scanned her room. "Good, 'cause creepy guy's friends decided to join the party." She rose to her feet, her hands closing into fists. "You take fingerless guy, I'll take ruined face and the ugliest one."

"Pet," Spike looked up at her, his pinched eyebrows creasing his forehead. "I don't see anyone."

"You're kidding."

"Get Red, I'll meet you there."

* * *

Buffy tried to run, but had to settle for a hurried walk. She reached Willow's door without any _encounters_, but banged on the door nonetheless – better to wake her friend with a fake scare than wait until the real threat caught up with her.

Willow opened the door. Her hand gripped the doorknob harder as all the color faded from her face. She looked like she'd seen a ghost – the ghost of her best friend. "Buffy!"

"Yeah, _alive_ and walking. Kinda." Buffy cast a quick glance at both sides of the corridor. "We have a problem."

"What's wrong?"

"Demons or big time hallucinations. I prefer the first."

"Come in." Willow caught Buffy glancing over her clothes. She looked down to her flannel pajamas. "Oh. I'll go get my work clothes. I'll be right back."

As Buffy waited, no demons showed. Neither did Spike though. What was taking him so long?

"Okay, what happened?"

Before she could explain, the door opened slightly. Buffy had already jumped when a voice came from the other side. "I'm human. Well, now at least. Don't hit me."

As the door was pushed open, the mystery behind Spike's delay was revealed. "Dawn! What are doing here?"

She came in, and then turned to talk to Spike who was right behind her. "See? She's fine already. Hi, Will."

"Hi, Dawnie."

"_Dawn_."

"Don't we have demons chasing us or whatever?" Dawn crossed her arms, her right foot tapping the ground. "Why don't we skip the part where you treat me like a child and I point out your suicidal spell?"

The two sisters had a short-lived staring competition. Buffy caved. "Fine." Spike shut the door and checked the lock before going to her side. Buffy turned to Willow. "Okay, we have maybe four demons out there. Any chance this is part of the spell?"

"No. The worst outcomes were one or both of you dying or..."

Buffy asked. "Or?"

Willow grimaced, diverting her gaze to Spike. "The thing that didn't happen so there's no need to mention it?"

Buffy looked at Spike. "Spike, what thing?"

He placed a hand at the small of her back. "I'll tell you later, pet."

Spike's gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Dawn. Nor did the fact that her sister never removed his hand. Spike was the only one to catch her 'a-ha!' look – he winked at her before turning his attention to the matter at hand.

"Will, are you sure this is not from the spell? You released a demon when you brought me back."

"I summoned a different god. Hecate helps ghosts. She doesn't send demons to kill them afterwards."

Spike asked. "So it's not a demon?"

"It's not _our_ demon. As in, we didn't create it."

Buffy forced a smile. "Regular demons then, yay."

"So, what did it look like?"

"Bulky, in serious need of a wardrobe revamp." Buffy made a face before continuing. "The others seemed like they came out of a Stephen King movie."

Willow's voice came out strangled. "_Cujo_?"

"_Carrie_."

"Oh."

"Well, what should we do?"

"I can't fight, and Spike can't see them. I hate to say it, but…run?"

* * *

**A/N:** Here's another chapter! I know I went MIA right after a major cliffhanger and I'm really sorry about it (my finals are to blame). But I survived (and passed) so I get to keep writing. :)

A shout out to **thephoenixandthedragon4ever** and **mareknowakowski** for the reviews!

Hope you all enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

**Warning**: Major spoilers from the 5th season of Angel.

* * *

"_I hate to say it, but…run?"_

Buffy never got a 'Are you crazy?', nor an 'Okay!' in response – their eyes just fell on her as if she was suddenly sprouting horns. It was unnerving, really, that of all the crazy plans she'd come up with over the years, _this_ would be the one to leave them silent. She suddenly wished Xander had come too. He was _bound_ to make a joke and make her feel less like a quitter. Not to mention he'd agree with her in a heartbeat – running away was _definitely_ a Xander-approved plan.

Without him there, though, the muffled sound of the heavy traffic and impatient drivers from the street outside almost reverberated within the bedroom despite the closed windows. That and the occasional rustling of wings of birds nesting on the old hotel's roof and windowsills were a background sound that had been there since she arrived, yet Buffy had never been aware of it consciously. She massaged her shoulder with her right hand, trying to relieve some of the tension. The blood – Spike's blood – on her hand was now too dry to smear on her skin as she squeezed the tense muscle.

When it became clear that no one would speak up, she chose to look at Dawn. From among her sister, Spike and Willow, Dawn would never hide her opinion to spare Buffy's – or anyone else's – feelings. Her too-tall little sister sat on the edge of Willow's bed, arms and legs crossed, and shot her a pointed look that all but said '_Ha, very funny. Now what's the actual plan?_'

Buffy turned to see Willow's expression. Her forced half-smile – possibly intended to be reassuring or 'normal' – looked grimace-like when paired with her wide and slightly panicked eyes. It was like a punch to the stomach – they thought that she'd lost her mind.

Squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms, she didn't ignore the feeling of betrayal. Instead, she swallowed, clenched her jaw, and willed it to mutate into a thicker skin.

"So?" Her voice didn't break, although she couldn't have sustained the callous edge for more than a syllable. Her knees weren't as strong, and when they shook they robbed her of her put-on cold-heartedness. Spike's hand slid quickly from the small of her back to wrap around her waist and she crashed lightly into his side, reminding her further of her current uselessness. She caught the mixture of surprise and worry in his face with the corner of her eye before his head turned to Willow. From the look of concern on her friend's face, she hadn't missed the little crack in Buffy's armor either.

And the crack was all it took for the whole armor to go. Buffy exhaled a long breath, not caring to look at any of them anymore. She was too tired to fight. Just as she accepted that her body was too weak to win against demons, her brain was too spent to prove she hadn't gone mental. For once, she silenced the voice in her head urging her to _DRAG THEM ALL OUT, NOW!_ – the same gut-oriented voice that came up with and pushed her through the craziest plans – and waited with a clenched stomach for the verdict on her sanity.

Spike was the first to speak. "It's the middle of the day, pet."

Buffy looked up, the knot in her stomach eased a little. At least he was considering it. "Can't you take the sewers?"

Spike shook his head. "Never been down there. Don't think I could find my way."

"We should stick together." Willow added as planning mode toned down the panic. "Just because we can't see them doesn't mean they won't attack us. We'll be easy targets on our own."

Buffy agreed. "We'll stick together then. But we can't stay here."

"Maybe we should regroup." Willow suggested. "There _is_ a chance we're just in the wrong place in the wrong time and this is one of Angel's demons. Wesley is at Wolfram &amp; Hart, so if we go there, we'll have the greater numbers and I'll be able to research what kind of demon it is, or —"

"Or what the hell is wrong with my head." Buffy finished, bitter that her best friend wouldn't fully believe her. _When have I been delusional before?_ She wanted to ask. Yet when she thought about it…_Okay, don't answer that_. "Sounds like a plan. But there's still the middle-of-the-day issue. Blankets?"

"I've got another idea, pet. Meet me out front."

* * *

It took Buffy a moment to grow accustomed to the sight of the sun hitting Spike's face. After he told them to meet him up front, he showed up driving a car with clear windows, urging them to get inside. Even after he explained about Angel's necro-tempered windowed cars, Buffy still stared worriedly at him, afraid that any moment the sun would begin to burn his skin. She'd been too stunned to even ask how Spike had gotten the keys.

Her eyes must've been burning holes in his face, because he tilted his head towards her with a sideways glance and placed his hand over hers, lacing their fingers together. She gave one last look to make sure he was alright before diverting her eyes to the street up front.

The only other time she'd seen him in sunlight, there had been no love lost between them. He'd been hell-bent on killing her and she had been just as determined _not_ to let him. The dynamics couldn't be more different now. He would let go of her hand whenever he needed to change gears, but his fingers would always find hers again, whereas she – now growing used to it – took pleasure in stealing glances of him. Spike was way too pale and his hair was so much brighter under the sunlight than she thought was possible. His clothes didn't really help – apart from the now brownish bloodstain on the shoulder, the sweater's color reflected the light back in a way that rivaled his skin and hair, yet the piece itself was completely out of character for Spike. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Buffy spent a good time silent, tuning in Willow and Dawn as they caught up on everything that happened on the last two days. It wasn't until Buffy looked down to Spike's hand in hers that confusion hit her. Unwilling to let go of his hand, she raised her other for a closer inspection. "What happened to my wounds?"

Spike shot her a quick sideways glance. "I, uh, I licked them closed, pet."

"You _licked_ them? There was _lickage?_ That's not fair, where was I?" Buffy didn't realize she had raised her voice in outraged disappointment until she noticed the silence in the backseat. She could almost feel the grin in Willow and Dawn's faces, but she didn't dare look at the rear-view mirror. She trained her eyes on the road, feeling the faintest blush creep over her cheeks. "I meant…how long until we get there?"

She could feel Spike smirking. _The traitor_.

* * *

_Oh. My. Gosh. _

Harmony stood up from her chair as soon as she saw her Blondie Bear get off of the elevator, her eyes traveling up and down his had never looked so…_boyish_ before. Of course he always looked _totally_ hot, but without the bad-boy look – leather duster and malicious smirk – he looked kind of _cute_. Harmony knew he'd kill her if she told him that.

Her hand automatically went to her hair, her fingers playing with a lock of it as she bit her lower lip. Who knew he could be so sexy when there wasn't danger bleeding out of his pores?

As he walked, still unaware of her presence, she leaned over the counter desk, propping herself on her forearms. If there was one thing she learned from High School, it was how to make a man see her assets.

He caught sight of her and seemed to have read her mind. He tilted his head to the side and rolled his eyes. She licked her lips in anticipation – whenever he snapped at her, the sex was _so_ much rougher. But then his murderous expression softened as he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

At _her_.

The slayer had been right behind him as he led the way through the hall, and only then had she come into view. Harmony stood straight, sizing up her competition. A cruel smile tugged the corner of her mouth – Buffy had no makeup on and was in serious need of a hair brush. Not to mention a shower – hello, _deodorant_? Harmony could smell her reek from the other side of the hall! Which only made Harmony more furious when Spike held Buffy's hand. _Smelly slayers are his thing? No wonder we never worked out._

Harmony kept watching them as Spike mouthed something to Buffy, and gave her hand a little squeeze before letting go. They split, and Harmony noticed Willow, who followed Spike towards Angel's office, and Dawn, who went with Buffy in the opposite direction. They all went their separate ways, without as much as a look in Harmony's direction.

She fisted her hands, then let go before she broke a nail. "Freaks."

* * *

Before going inside Angel's office, Spike and Willow coordinated their version of events. Telling him Buffy might've been hallucinating wasn't an option. If there wasn't a demon and something was truly wrong with her, they'd deal with it when they got there. If there was a demon and they didn't take her word for it, she could be in danger.

Right before he entered Angel's office – why knock? – Spike threw away the sweater. In any other law firm, the blood stain and the hole the arrow had left in it would draw great attention - that wasn't the case at Wolfram &amp; Hart. The wanker CEO wouldn't miss it, though.

Angel let out an exasperated sigh. "To what do I owe the honor? Have I eaten little children or something?"

"We have a problem."

Angel's posture stiffened. "Buffy?"

"No, demons."

"Plural?" Angel frowned. "What kind?"

"We don't know. Buffy's the one who saw them, we thought you might have a clue."

"A necromancer just swore revenge on us. Sent one of my employees in a bucket. I went to see him today."

"What did you do to piss him off? Oh, let me guess. He said 'relationship' and you poofed?"

Angel rose from his chair, the movement no doubt intended to make him more intimidating. He huffed a contemptuous laugh. "I recall _you_ going 'poof' not two days ago."

_Oh boy_. Willow froze and chanced a look at Spike. _Well done, Angel. You're really outdoing yourself these days._

Spike was, as she expected, seething with anger. Ironic that her former werewolf boyfriend never did such a thing. It took Spike three strides to stand in front of Angel and she would've cringed if there wasn't a large wooden desk separating them.

"I was sent to Hell. I'm not a bloody prat who fled to L.A. scared of a getting a happy."

"_I_ was sent to Hell too."

"And neither of you stayed there!" Willow cried out, getting their attention. "But that's easily fixable, you know?" Reigning in her temper but keeping a stern face, she continued. "Now, we have more important things to discuss."

* * *

"Can I explore?" Dawn asked as she and Buffy headed to Wesley's office.

"No."

"Aw, but there some cute guys here. In _suits_."

"_Evil_ cute guys. In _evil_ suits." Dawn raised an eyebrow at the last bit, but was quickly distracted by a handsome guy wearing a dark blue tie.

Buffy rolled her eyes and pulled Dawn along the hall while trying to ignore the eyes following them. As they turned toward the door Spike had directed them to, Dawn stopped on her tracks and swallowed. "Demon coming at us. How bad is green and horny?"

Buffy turned to follow her gaze. Great, green and horny. "Depends on your meaning for 'horny'." She answered absentmindedly.

"You feel better already, don't you?" Dawn asked, but her eyes were still on the threat.

Despite her attempt at a joke, Buffy had also tensed. And she couldn't thank God enough as the green man went by without a glance in their direction. She had napped in the car, the passing houses lulling her into slumber after that really awkward moment with Spike, but she was still not rested up enough for a fight.

They resumed their walk until they reached Wesley's door. His office was open and he was sitting at his desk when they got in. He stood up right away, looking surprised and relieved.

"Buffy, you're alive!"

"And kicking...well, not really."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "The bad puns are just fine though."

He frowned and Buffy explained. "A green, _horned_ demon just went past us outside. Didn't even look at us."

"That's just Lorne," The woman's voice took Buffy by surprise, as a brunette in a lab coat got up from the big stuffed chair facing away from the door. "He's a friend. I'm Fred, by the way."

* * *

When Buffy entered Angel's office, followed by Dawn, Wesley and Angel's own geek, Fred, Spike and Angel were having a glaring contest. They looked one step away from jumping each other's necks. Buffy suspected their restraint had something to do with the cross look on Willow's face.

The intruders seemed to be the proverbial knife, since they cut into the room's tension, drawing the attention of the two vampires.

"So, do we know what those demons are?" Buffy asked. She had told Fred and Wesley a brief and edited account of the facts before Wesley suggested they joined Angel and the others. Hopefully Spike and Willow had edited as well. That is, if the two vampires had actually gotten past the trading insults part.

Angel was the one to answer. "I'm fighting a necromancer."

Spike snorted, and Angel glared at him, as if daring Spike to say a word.

Buffy sighed. They didn't really have time for this. "Tall guy, no eyebrows and copying the long Dawson haircut?"

He shook his head. "Hainsley has no hair."

Her shoulders slumped. She sagged onto the nearest couch. "Not him then."

"Perhaps it was one of his minions?" Wesley suggested. "Necromancers have control of the dead. Did they look like zombies?"

"No, had some crashing a party once. The guy I shot was too articulate, and he vanished into thin air."

"Hm, sorry to interrupt, but did you touch him?" Fred asked, and as Buffy grimaced, she amended, "I meant, did you physically feel him? I-I…you know? As in punching or-or something?"

"No, I ran." Buffy said lamely. "I shot the first one, but I don't think he died." By the way he had smiled, he might have even known that the arrow would hit Spike.

"By 'vanish'," Wesley started, catching Fred's train of thought. "You wouldn't mean as Spike had been vanishing, would you?"

"You think it's a ghost?" Buffy asked, feeling a knot between her brows as she stopped to consider. She had been expecting some annoying demon with an even more annoying name that she could never say right. But ghosts? They weren't _floating_. _Neither was Spike_, now that she thought about it. _You really can't trust all you see in movies_. "How would I know?"

"Well, when they're visible they would emit ectoplasm and their electromagnetic readings—"

Spike cut her off. "In English, pet."

"Well, you'd feel cold."

Buffy's brows were still furrowed. "I did, but the room was cold, so…."

"That room was boiling." Willow's face was a mix of relief and guilt as she flashed an apologetic smile to Buffy.

Angel jotted something down. "Well, we'll send a team of ghost-whatever there tomorrow. In the meantime, the necromancer did promise revenge, so it'll probably—"

"Tomorrow?"

"—be wiser if we spent the night here. Yes, tomorrow."

"Why not today?" Fred asked. "I'm sure we have a team—"

"We had a team. Wolfram &amp; Hart has been downsizing…"

"You fired the ghost team?"

"We never had any problems with ghosts before. Unless we count Casper here, and he never really hid himself."

"We're having a pajama party here?" Harmony's head peeked through the open door, unashamed to let them know she'd been eavesdropping. "This is _so_ fun!"

* * *

They eventually dissuaded Harmony of the idea of a pajama party at the office, which made her glare at Buffy, even if it was Angel who told her she was in no danger of being attacked by the necromancer and dismissed her for the day.

The rest of Angel's team was called – Lorne was busy, but Gunn had been briefed and was on his way. He assured everyone that the green demon wasn't in danger of being caught off guard – something about him not sleeping.

Dawn fell asleep at some point. Fred offered Buffy the lab shower and she almost regretted having accepted when the brunette's rambling rivaled Harmony's. One pleading look at Willow, though, and the witch went with them, the little punishment of distracting Fred a making amends, of sorts, with Buffy.

"_It's nothing fancy. We only really have it in case there's a contamination or something. Not that there's ever been, of course. Anyway I always keep spares clothes in case something goes kaboom and I end up covered in green goo. Last time we were experimenting with..."_

Yeah, Willow was forgiven.

* * *

The hot water had done wonders for her body. Buffy curled next to Dawn on the couch and nodded off as the others brought in couches from other offices and ordered take out. She was too sleepy to feel guilty about it.

Spike woke her and Dawn gently when the food arrived. They all ate in silence – their rather large group spread around the once-large-but-now-filled-with-too-many-couches-office. For Willow, Dawn and Buffy, who had spent the day with nothing but some snacks from the vending machine, real food was a welcome addition.

"We need to worry about the zombies." Angel pointed out minutes later. "Hainsley has a living room full of dead bodies. We'll have to smash or cut their heads or they'll keep coming."

It was evidence of the weirdness of the group that that mental image didn't make them fight to keep their dinner inside.

"The ghosts can't touch us unless he gives them bodies. They're a smokescreen." Buffy looked at Spike before continuing. "But they can make us hurt each other if we're not careful."

"Well, Angel and Spike will have to sit this one out." Wesley added.

"Yeah, right." "Hell, no!"

"You're dead." Gunn said. "The last thing we need is you fighting _us_."

"They right," Buffy agreed. "Dawn, you'll stay out as well."

"I'm not dead!" She protested.

"No, you're not," Buffy conceded. "And I'd like you to stay that way."

* * *

As they arranged things to pass as covers and decided where everyone would sleep, Buffy glanced briefly at Spike, catching his gaze, before turning to Wesley. "Where's the bathroom again?"

He directed her to go left from the door and go take the first corridor on the left. Spike watched her go out and couldn't stop himself from following her. Whether he did so in order to ensure her safety or to spend some time alone with her, he didn't know for sure. Probably both. The fact was, it did remind him of not so pleasant times, back when he used to follow her around and watch as she fought. She had an elegance in her movements that stirred the poet inside of him, and he couldn't really tell when his demon actually fell for her. But it had, he had become obsessed with her every breath. And it had utterly _repulsed_ her.

The memory was almost enough to make him stop in his tracks. She might think he'd been doing it again – stalking her. But in the end he couldn't really stop himself.

She took a turn at the end of the corridor and he began to wonder if she had actually paid attention to the bloody directions. Most of the staff was gone by now, but who knew what kind of monster the janitor of this place could be? He quickened his pace, anxious about having her out of his sight. He reached the spot where she escaped his view – an intersection where the lit corridor he was in met the unlit one where she had turned. Just as he quickened his pace and took the turn, he was pushed against the wall. The air rushed out of his lungs, more out of surprise than the collision with the wall. It had been too gentle a push.

"Hey."

"Buffy."

"I knew you'd follow me. Well, I hoped you would, anyway."

"Why would you want me to?"

"I…are you still mad?"

He knew what she meant. He had got rid of Wesley's bloody – and bloodied – sweater, but his black shirt still had the hole, even if it masked the blood. He wasn't— couldn't— be mad at her. He cupped her face, and his eyes followed his thumb as he trailed a path from her cheek to the line of her jaw. Soft strands of hair brushed his fingertips as he caressed the back of her neck, momentarily distracting him from his answer. Her eyes were closed, and she stayed so still he couldn't help but smile. They had touched all day, yet they had never had a moment to savor it. "No, pet, I'm not mad at you."

He could feel as she exhaled, saw her eyes open slowly to face him. She moved slightly closer to him and he felt the heat go through his shirt when she placed her hand on his waist. He searched her eyes for any signs of regret, any sign that he had read too much into this, that all she wanted was his friendship. He couldn't stand it if he closed the small distance between them only to have her punch him in disgust. A stake would do less harm.

Buffy seemed to pick up on his hesitation. She raised her free hand and gently held the one he'd placed on her neck. Turning her head slowly, she placed a soft kiss on his palm.

He tried to contain his emotions even though he was failing miserably. Short of when she slept in his arms, fully clothed, there had never been another moment so…intimate. So…reverent. And it occurred to him, as his lips captured hers softly, that he had never before felt so loved.

He wasn't love's bitch anymore.

* * *

**A/N:**

A few comments on this chapter:

1) Yes, it took me a long time to finish it. I wasn't happy with it and I wouldn't publish something I didn't like, even though it had a decent length (2,500 words) by the time I planned to post (July 22nd). It would be disrespectful to you and me both, so I didn't. And you guys are great, so you'll forgive me, right? *trying to decide between puppy eyes and a wink*

2) Rachel (nowinlivingcolor) is just awesome and without her I would never be able to finish this! So thank you so, so much, Rachel! :)

3) The "Freaks" line is from Angel, I only adapted it here. In the series Harmony mutters "Slayer-loving freak" as Spike walks away.

4) What did you think of the ending? I've never written a kiss before and I'm really anxious to know what you think about it!

Thanks to all of you following this story! And a special thank you to nrdhrd3 and thephoenixandthedragon4ever for the reviews! :)

Let me what you think and until next chapter!

BHS

P.S.: Sorry about the repost - FF went a little crazy on me.


	10. Chapter 10

**To catch a heart**

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

* * *

**OBS: The song in this chapter is called Crack of Doom, by Tiger Lillies. It doesn't belong to me either.**

* * *

It wasn't the bustle of semi-awake employees starting their day at the office that woke Buffy up. It wasn't even the streak of sunlight on her face or the leather couch sticking to her skin that did it.

It was the smell of roasted beans turned liquid goodness. She sat up abruptly and rubbed her eyes. Looking around, she spotted the source of the lovely coffee scent and grimaced. Harmony was at the door, nudging it open with her shoulder while she balanced a tray with several mugs and two filled to the brim coffee pots. Making her way through the couches that were all over the office, Harmony's lips pursed in a pout as she seemed to have intentionally chosen the path next to Buffy's couch. The slayer watched her pass by, confused as to the reason why Harmony pointedly ignored her while swaying her hips and holding her chin high. Buffy's eyes followed Harmony as far as she could without straining her neck, and once the vampire walked out of Buffy's line of sight, her behavior started to make sense – Spike was there, sitting on the couch facing Buffy's, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she ran a hand through her hair only to realize it was sticking up in places. She smoothed it down with her fingers as best as she could before dragging her legs off the couch and turning to face Spike. His black t-shirt hugged his chest and shoulders, and his skin was once again bathed in sunlight. She didn't dare stare too long at his smiling lips, so she looked up to his eyes. They were sapphire lightning balls – there was no other explanation for the way lighter blue streaks shone like an electrical current in the richer blue background. A voice in the back of her mind told her it was unfair that he looked so handsome, because if the tingling feeling on her face was any indication, she looked like hell. She snapped out of her trance with a blink, her hand shot up to her cheek and trailed the small depressions there.

_Damn couch. Damn sleep wrinkles. I didn't drool, did I? Oh, God, did I?_

She felt her eyes bulge, a sight that must have looked funny because Spike let out a chuckle.

"'Morning, pet."

She scowled in response. _Damn him and his stupid t-shirt, and his perfect skin, and beautiful electric eyes—okay, losing focus there. _

Buffy pushed herself up, muttering something that would have sounded like 'traitor mind' if not for the yawn that interrupted it. She stretched her arms and looked around the room. Gunn was talking to Angel in a hushed tone by the desk as Harmony served them coffee, and Wesley and Fred were nowhere to be seen. Apparently the waking up part was not the Scooby's forte - Dawn and Willow were still out.

Angel seemed only half-aware of whatever Gunn was telling him. His eyes were focused on Buffy, sparing Spike an occasional glare. Buffy gave one last look at Spike before she walked over to the desk. He was still smiling, the bastard. She avoided the glowering vampire's gaze. If they were going to start so early, she was going to need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

Buffy grabbed a mug, but before she could pick up one of the pots, Harmony got hold of both.

"Let me." Harmony offered in a sardonic tone.

Harmony's mouth reverted back to a pursed pout and her face tightened in a sulky expression. As she tilted the pot, Buffy was sure the vampiress was going to 'accidentally' throw hot coffee at her, but Harmony didn't. The blonde finished pouring and Buffy brought the mug close to her face, holding it with both hands. "Mmmm, coffee. Thanks."

Buffy tested the hotness with the tip of her tongue, and then took a considerable sip.

"Harmony, isn't that—" Gunn started asking, a few seconds too late.

"Ugh, what's that taste?" Buffy asked. _How can they drink this?_

When Buffy looked up to the blonde vampire, she realized trusting Harmony had been a mistake. Harmony's eyes shone with triumph, her face twisted in mock apology. "Oops, wrong carafe. Sorry, this is the one with blood."

Buffy choked. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Their little assault against the necromancer started out bad before it got really bad.

"Okay, here we are," said Angel as he parked the black van by the trees just before the waist-tall gates outside Hainsley's house. They kept the headlights off in a vain attempt to have the element of surprise and watched the manor through the van's tinted windshield. All the lights were out inside the house, and during their short surveillance the only noise and movement came from a cat playing around with the neatly trimmed bushes in the garden. Angel and Buffy climbed to the back of the van to join the others and go over the details of the plan one last time.

Buffy, Willow, Wesley, and Gunn were the offensive line. They had their choices of weapons, with the men focusing more on the crushing part while Willow and Buffy had favored blades. Walkie-talkies had been firmly strapped to their waists as a precaution – they were to keep radio silence unless something went really wrong inside.

Angel, Spike, and Dawn grudgingly agreed to stay in the car as a command center of sorts - a link between them and Fred, who had stayed at Wolfram and Hart, armed with Wesley's demonology collection. Lorne had promised over the phone to head over to the office to stay with her, just in case.

Buffy slid open the side door and waited for the others to follow her out. Getting past the low gates was a breeze, and there were no signs of any sort of an alarm system. They advanced slowly, hiding behind the round and rectangular shaped bushes in the garden. The front steps were avoided for stealth reasons, and they made no sound as they slipped their weapons through the balustrade gaps before climbing the concrete railings themselves, only to have their efforts go to waste when all the lights on the first floor were turned on.

Willow's expression closely resembled a deer-in-the-headlights. Buffy just sighed. "Well, there goes the element of surprise."

"Front door then?" suggested Wesley.

Buffy nodded. "Remember the plan. Cut off heads, crush skulls, ignore ghosts, and either capture or kill the boss."

They positioned themselves in front of wooden French doors, with Buffy and Willow in the middle of the two men.

Gunn held his mace at ready. "God, I've missed this."

They all turned to look at him, brows raised.

"What? Try defending our guilty clients in court and winning and see how long you can last without going all Daredevil on them."

Buffy shook her head and reached for the doorknob. It offered no resistance, yet the moment she pushed the door open, a halted, melancholic sound of an accordion resonated through the hall. They shared one last look, and Buffy led the group inside.

The hall was poorly lit by a yellow glow cast by wall sconces that contributed to the somber decor. Mahogany was everywhere but the floors - from the arched staircase to their left, to the walls and armchairs to their right, and in the archway in the middle that seemed to lead to a drawing room. They took a couple of steps towards the center of the hall, the sound of their shoes on the stone floor masked by the music that was apparently coming from the room before them.

_And so your life has been a success_

_And you have pleasure in excess_

_Don't worry it'll all soon end_

_It is all shallow and pretend_

The words boomed in a falsetto voice with an exaggerated accent as the group took in their surroundings, weapons firmly clasped. Wesley and Gunn placed themselves to the sides of the bifold door and each grabbed a knob. With a nod, they pulled them open, quickly returning to Willow and Buffy's side. The drawing room was brighter, and at first glance, full of pasty-white skinned people and more mahogany furniture. A fluorescent light had been added to the high ceiling in addition to the yellow of several lamps and sconces. The song echoed louder through the open door. The first thing they noticed was the grand piano at the center of the room, the only light-colored piece of furniture they had seen so far. Its player – a man dressed in a white suit – sat completely still. _Everyone_ in the room remained too perfectly still. In the corner stood an old round jukebox with a soft green light. The music boomed from it.

"Why would a necromancer set up a lame tea party for dead people?" Willow asked, making a wry face.

_And so you've reached the giddy heights_

_And your future's looking bright_

_Don't worry it will all soon..._

As if awakened by Willow's words, the occupants' heads snapped to look in her direction, some with necks craned in odd angles, all with glassy, lifeless eyes. "Sorry, I-I meant killer party!" Willow cringed at her own words. "Wicked? Uh, bad word choice."

_The crack of doom is coming soon_

_The crack of doom is coming soon_

_The crack of doom is coming soon_

_Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha_

There was a cascade of thumping sounds as all of the occupants of the room dropped whatever piece of the tea set they were holding. The carpeted floor softened the fall, but the floral china crushed under polished oxford shoes and pointed sling back heels as the zombies advanced on the party crashers. How decomposing women could manage to drag themselves wearing heels and still stand upright was beyond comprehension. Buffy expanded the retractable blades on her double-edged spear. The dead men easily outnumbered them, and their movements were clunky, yet slightly faster than Buffy remembered from her failed 'Welcome Back' party several years before. The first to reach her was a tall man with sleekly pomaded dark brown hair that was parted to the left. She stepped forward, thrusting the spear through his eye and trying very hard not to gag at the sight. She kicked him in the stomach to disengage her weapon as two others made their way to her.

_And so your life_

_Your life has failed_

_You've made the progress of a snail_

_Don't worry you'll get your revenge_

_For we're all equal in the end_

The dead were swarming like ashen moldy-smelling bees at the double doors, so the team split up into pairs, forming two fronts. Buffy ran by the dowdy mahogany furniture with Willow following close behind her, opening a path through the room, while Wesley and Gunn inched their way to the far corner. Willow took out one zombie then another with swift thrusts of her daggers through the back of their necks, while Buffy stepped on the stool and stepped up on top of the grand piano, knocking down two golden vases in the process. She scanned the room from her vantage point, but there was no sign of the necromancer. The song reached a high pitched crescendo as the group fought against the tireless crowd of zombies. The fast paced beat proved to be even worse than the melancholic one, like a ticking bomb about to explode without any red wires for them to cut first.

_The small and mighty all the same_

_This life's a shallow, facile game_

_And every ego will be crushed_

_And every empire turned to dust_

"Can someone turn this music off?" pleaded Buffy.

_The-crack-of-doom-is-coming-soon-the-crack-of-doom-is-coming-soon-the-crack-of-doom-is-coming-soon_

_The crack of doom is-_

_Crash!_

"Thanks."

Gunn lifted his spiked mace as the jukebox let out sparks. "Don't mention it."

She swung her spear at two zombies closing in on her, before stopping to scan the room once again. "Can anyone see the necromancer?"

"Not sure," answered Wesley, kicking at a blond woman in a frilly cream dress between swings of his war hammer. "What did he look like again?"

"Fat bald guy." Buffy jumped off the piano and landed on the soft carpet. "Alive."

"That's a tad judgmental of you, my darling."

Buffy turned around sharply. Leaning against the door frame in the same tacky old clothes was the man she _didn't_ want to find.

Her ghost.

* * *

**A/N**: Hello people!

Here's my overdue chapter. Real life's a bitch and I've been so swamped with homework and readings last month that my boyfriend kindly mentioned that we hadn't seen each other in a few weeks and that perhaps we should break up. Lots of crying and some homework completely ignored later, and we're still together. But please, _please_, don't break up with me too, I can't take more tears – it's bad for my health and it completely ruins my productivity.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review and let me know what you think! :)


End file.
